Beyond the Draak’s Teeth
The Ni-lach
Book III
Marcia J. Bennett
A Del Rey Book
Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright © 1986 by Marcia J. Bennett
ISBN 0-345-33086-2
First Edition: March 1986
Cover Art by Darrell K. Sweet
Content
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Dedication
Dedicated to Monte, Eileen, and John. With special thanks to Dawn for Gringers and to Scott for Barl-et-Bara
Prologue
THEON SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE DOCK REPAIRING A tear in his net and muttering to himself, cursing the hot day, baby draak who liked to chew on fishing nets, and Hansa, his boatmate, who had promised to help him with the net, but who had found more important things to do elsewhere.
He straightened, easing tired neck muscles by rolling his head from side to side, then he glanced out over the docks. The morning catches were all taken care of and almost everyone had left for town. There were a few, like himself, who had stayed behind to repair boats, nets, and sails, but the majority of fishermen who plied the river waters in and around Natrob had long since called it a day.
He bent back over his net and started to weave a new piece of line into place. Suddenly he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at the shore just a few meters away. There was a man standing deep in the shadow of the trees that overhung the water.
Theon shaded his eyes with his hand. “Hello. Who’s there?”
“A friend, Theon.”
Theon dropped the net and jumped to his feet. “Gringers! What are you doing here?”
“Come talk with me and I’ll explain.”
“Sure! Just a minute. Let me put this net away.”
Theon gathered up the netting and threw it into the bottom of the nearby boat, then hurried to the shore, excitement stirring. Gringers. Here. And looking for him. Gods, he had never thought to see the man again, not after their last argument.
He stopped before Gringers and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “It’s been a while, ” he said, his glance darting over the handsome, dark-haired man whom he had once dared call friend.
“Two years, ” Gringers said.
Theon licked at dry lips, suddenly conscious of his appearance: hair uncombed, sweat-stained tunic, a gaping hole in the knee of his pants.
“What brings you to Natrob?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Last year’s crop of spidermoss.”
“Oh. ” Theon hesitated. “You’re not alone then?”
“Hardly.”
“Seevan’s with you?”
Gringers nodded.
Theon grimaced. “My luck.”
“Just stay out of my uncle’s way, and everything will be all right.”
“How long will you be here?”
“One week at least. Seevan’s gone downriver to Port Cestar to meet with a new dealer for spidermoss.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“I have other business to attend to.”
“What kind of business?”
“Something that concerns you, friend—if you are interested.”
Theon frowned. “I thought that after what happened, you wouldn’t want to…”
“What happened two years ago is not important now.”
Theon shook his head in confusion. “Does that mean I’m forgiven for stealing from your uncle?”
“It means that I want us to start over again. As friends.”
Theon tried to read Gringers’s expression, but the man gave nothing away. Theon nodded, accepting. “Friends it is.”
“Good! I’m glad, ” Gringers said, clasping Theon’s hand. “Now I have a favor to ask.”
Suddenly wary, Theon withdrew his hand, but gently so as not to offend. “What kind of favor?”
“Do you remember Diak?”
“The old man with the dream of finding Barl-gan?”
“Yes.”
Theon nodded. “I remember him. He was always going on about a diary he’d found. Said it proved that the stories about the Ral-jennob were true, that men did come from another world. Everyone thought he was crazy.”
“He’s not crazy. The diary told the truth about the First Men, the Ral-jennob. The box proves it.”
“Box?”
“The box. Remember, I showed it to you. Diak found it with the diary. Well, now he’s found a way to make it work.”
Theon was curious in spite of himself. “What’s it do?”
“It’s like magic, Theon. It makes pictures in your mind. I’ve seen for myself the man called Barl, leader of the First Men, and I’ve seen the great ship that brought men to Ver-draak—well, part of the ship; it was awash in a large body of water. And I’ve seen men and women working with strange-looking tools, building a city they called Barl’s Holding. It has to be Barl-gan!”
Theon looked skeptical. “Who else has seen this box work besides you and Diak?”
The excitement faded from Gringers’s face. “A few. We were careful to whom we showed it.”
“Seevan?”
Gringers hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, he’s seen it.”
“What did he think of it?”
“He called it evil and wanted it destroyed, and he named me a fool for meddling with things I didn’t understand.”
“What happened to the box?”
“Nothing yet. Diak left and took it with him. When the time is right, I’ll go after him and together we are going to look for Barl-gan.”
A clammy chill skittered down Theon’s back. He pulled his sweat-soaked tunic away from his body and realized that more than tree shade was making him cold. He had a sudden premonition that Gringers was headed into great danger.
He looked his friend straight in the eyes and tried to make his voice steady. “What has Diak’s box to do with the favor you want from me?”
Gringers laid a hand on Theon’s shoulder. “Two years ago you told me that your brother owned one of the Green Ones, a Ni who had come to him as a child. Does he still have him?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“If Diak and I are to reach Barl-gan, we’ll need a draak singer.”
Theon frowned. “Why not borrow one of Seevan’s?”
Gringers shook his head. “You weren’t with us long enough, Theon. If you had stayed and rafted with us a year or two instead of just a few months, you would know better than to even suggest such a thing. Draak singers are too few now to waste on the kind of expedition Diak wants to make. Seevan would never hear of it.”
“Even if you offered him part of whatever it is you and Diak hope to find?”
“Even then.”
“Too bad, because I don’t think my brother’s Ni is going to do you much good. He’s a halfwit. He makes noises but no way could they be interpreted as singing.”
“Perhaps he
could be trained, ” Gringers suggested.
“I doubt it.”
“I want to see him, Theon. It’s important to me. Can you arrange it?”
Theon turned to look out over the water. “What’s in this for me?” he asked finally.
Gringers chuckled. “You haven’t changed, I see.”
“Did you expect me to?” Theon responded, turning around.
“No, ” Gringers said, smiling. “You are as I remember you: keen-witted, sharp-tongued, and as sly a customer as ever I’ve run into—and a man who would make a good addition to our expedition.”
Theon sputtered a moment, then the full meaning of Gringers’s statement came through and he stood there in open-mouthed surprise. “Are you asking me to come along with you?”
“Why not? You once told me that you wanted to travel, to see other places, to become rich and famous.”
“Rich?”
Gringers nodded. “Diak believes that finding Barl-gan will be worth a lord’s ransom. You can be a part of it if you want to be. Interested?”
Theon answered without hesitating. “Yes. I’m interested.”
“Good! Then now all we need is a draak singer!”
Chapter 1
BHALDAVIN’S HEAD SNAPPED BACKWARD, PAIN EXPLODIING in his face. He slammed hard against the ground and for a moment or two he was too stunned to react to the danger approaching.
Warm wetness flowed down from his nose to his lips. The taste of blood stirred him to his senses and he opened his eyes. A blurred figure stood over him. An inarticulate cry escaped his lips as he rolled away from the reaching hands.
Panic filled him as he scrambled to his feet. He blinked and tried to focus on the figure shambling toward him. It was a man. Enemy to the Ni-lach. To be captured was to be killed.
Move! his mind roared at him. He turned, saw the body of water just a few steps away, and made a desperate dive for safety. No man could outswim one of the Ni-lach.
There was a splash as the warm lake water closed over him. He started swimming underwater, but something was wrong; he felt uncoordinated. Something dragged at his right ankle, and his left arm…
He opened his eyes and saw the emptiness of blue-green water where there should have been an arm. His scream was drowned as water swirled into his mouth and down his throat, choking him. His instincts for survival sent him kicking toward the surface.
He erupted out of the water in a cloud of bubbles. A moment later he felt a sharp tug on his leg. Before he could recover his breath, he was being drawn through the water, facedown, by a rope attached to his ankle. He had to fight to turn himself over.
As soon as his face cleared the surface, he flicked his hair out of his eyes and looked in the direction of the shore. The man stood there, legs braced, hauling hand over hand on the rope.
Bhaldavin fought against the rope, but was pulled into the shallows as easily as if he were a fish in a net. He groped the bottom frantically, searching in vain for a rock he could use as a weapon. The man waded into the water and grabbed hold of him, but he kicked and flailed so violently that the man lost his balance and fell back into the water.
Strong arms closed around Bhaldavin as he went under, forestalling any attempt to break free.
The man floundered a moment, then got his legs under him. As he stood up, he accidentally kneed Bhaldavin in the stomach.
Caught upside down in the water, Bhaldavin took in water instead of air. He choked and spat up water, and was still choking as the man carried him out of the shallows and laid him down on the ground.
The man knelt over Bhaldavin and began pushing on his back. “Breathe, Little Fish. Come on, breathe. You’ll be all right. You just swallowed some water.”
Bhaldavin coughed a few more times, then breathed easier. The man stopped pushing on his back.
“Little Fish?”
Bhaldavin knew the lake was just a few paces away. He thought about making another break for freedom, then remembered the rope at his ankle and the strength in the hands that had hauled him ashore. He remained motionless, unable to understand why the man had not already killed him.
The man turned Bhaldavin over onto his back; his hand came to rest on Bhaldavin’s chest. “Little Fish, you all right?”
Bhaldavin felt his heart beating strongly against the man’s fingertips.
The man slapped Bhaldavin’s cheek lightly. “No playing, Little Fish. Open your eyes. You’re safe now.”
When Bhaldavin failed to respond, there followed a second, harder slap.
Bhaldavin gave up playing dead and cautiously opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the man’s smile.
“Hah!” the man laughed. “You were trying to fool Garv.”
Startled by the man’s good humor, Bhaldavin allowed himself to be drawn to a sitting position.
The man reached out and wiped at the blood that dribbled from Bhaldavin’s nose. “You made Garv angry, Little Fish, so he had to hit you. Garv has told you time and time again not to touch his knife. You could hurt yourself.”
Bhaldavin studied the man as he spoke. Garv had brown eyes and shoulder-length dark brown hair. His beard was short and unkempt. He was big through the shoulders and heavy in the stomach; his wet clothes, patched many times, clung to him.
Confused, Bhaldavin sat quietly while Garv coiled the draakhide rope attached to his ankle.
Garv finished looping the rope and stood up, pulling Bhaldavin to his feet. “Come, Little Fish, I still have some fish to catch, and you must behave yourself until I’m through.”
Bhaldavin heard Garv, but his attention was elsewhere, for suddenly he became aware of his own body. Not only was he lacking an arm, but the length of his legs and the proportions of his body were not as he remembered. Gone were the youthful contours of a twelve-year-old; what he looked upon was the body of an adult Ni!
Disbelief and fear chased through his mind as he turned on the man. What has happened? What have you done to me? The words roared through his mind, but he couldn’t give them sound. He swallowed convulsively, fighting for control.
The man saw his distress and stepped close. “What’s wrong, Little Fish? You going to be sick?”
Tremors shook Bhaldavin; his legs were not going to hold him up. Waves of darkness reached for him.
The man caught him before he fell. “No more fishing today, ” he mumbled. “Garv will take you home now, Little Fish. Close your eyes and rest. You are safe with Garv.”
Bhaldavin lay quietly on a bed inside Garv’s small cabin; his green hair lay wet and tangled on his shoulders. He was hot, sweaty, and restless—and he was feeling lost and alone.
He used his fingers to trace the lines of bone and muscle in a body he didn’t recognize and tried to make sense out of the impossible. He reached over and touched the stump of his left arm, trying to remember the years that separated him from the youth he knew himself to be. But it was difficult to think, his head hurt so.
The day was warm and still but for the chirring of insects and the trilling of distant birds. He looked out through the open doorway and thought about freedom, but the man who called himself Garv sat on another bunk near the door, whittling a spear, and he didn’t feel up to testing the man’s reflexes by attempting an escape.
He glanced around the room. There was a small table with two chairs in the center of the room, a large kist at the foot of his bed, and a washbasin sitting on a wide shelf across the room. Clothes, rope, fishing poles, nets, baskets, and drying racks all hung from wall pegs around the room. The one small window in the room was over the washbasin. A narrow side door near the hearth was barred with a stout branch.
Bhaldavin couldn’t remember ever having been in a man dwelling before. Did they all live like this? he wondered. Ni homes were more open and often built high in the strong branches of aban trees where there was safety from draak and gensvolf, and his people took great delight in carving decorations for their homes. Seldom did a chair or table go without some kind of or
namental scroll-work, and the walls were often as not covered with lacy grass weavings that could be decorated with seasonal flowers and spices.
Bhaldavin sensed that he was far from his home, not only in time but distance. He glanced at the man, then closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to remember something of the past few years, but it all was lost in the darkness. His only clear memories were of his parents, his small brother and sister, the time before the war, and then the running and hiding—the war itself.
Bhaldavin drifted off to sleep, his last thoughts centered on the sadness in his mother’s eyes as they left their tree home that last day, the same day the Sarissa entered the Deep.
Bhaldavin was afraid as he crouched beside his father and peered out through the bushes. He saw the Sarissa moving in their direction; he heard them call to one another.
He turned to his mother. Her crystal eyes were round with fear as she looked at him. Baby Telia started to cry. His mother pressed her tight to her bosom, trying to keep her quiet; but silence didn’t matter any longer because the enemy knew they were there.
There were other Ni hiding in the bushes around them. Bhaldavin knew some of them. Like his own family, they had come from the small Ni villages just north of the Sarissa capital of Annaroth.
Bhaldavin turned to his father, who held young Dhalvad. Kion claimed that greed drove men to hunt and kill the Ni-lach, but Bhaldavin’s mother said it was much more than that. She said that men’s souls were not like those of the People, that they were stunted by envy and a failure to believe in the continuity of life. She said that the Ni-lach were feared because men could not hear the songs of life or sing them and believed in nothing but their own might.
But if they kill us, Bhaldavin thought angrily, our songs will be lost to them and they will have to fight the draak alone. He shook his head. The war didn’t make any sense. Surely the Sarissa could not be so shortsighted. Perhaps after living so long under the protection of the Ni-lach, they had forgotten what it was like to plant, harvest, and hunt without the help of the Draak Watch.
Bhaldavin felt his father’s eyes upon him. Kion’s light green hair had come loose from its braiding, his winged eyebrows were drawn down into a scowl, and his narrow lips were tightly pressed in frustration—for in trying to lead his family to safety, he had managed only to lead them into a trap.
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