“Because you are my sister’s son? That won’t stop me, Gringers. If you think so, just test my patience one more time.”
Seevan turned his back on Gringers and pulled Bhaldavin’s arm. “Come, Green One, it’s time for you and I to talk.”
Bhaldavin heard Theon speak to Gringers, fast and low; then he was out of earshot, being pushed ahead of Seevan down the narrow path between the pine trees. When they reached the campsite, Seevan led Bhaldavin toward a place a short distance from where Ysal and Glar were preparing food for supper.
Seevan sat down on a tree stump and pulled Bhaldavin down to kneel in front of him. Seevan reached out and lifted Bhaldavin’s chin, forcing the Ni to look at him. “Gringers has told me a little bit about you, Bhaldavin, but I would like to know more: where you come from and how you ended up in Fisherman’s Landing. I also want to know about Gringers’s plans for you. I know you must have heard him talking to his friend. But first, tell me about yourself. Where were you born?”
“In the Deep, north of Annaroth.”
“You’re far from your homeland. Tell me, how did you get here?”
“I don’t know.”
Seevan’s glance fastened on Bhaldavin’s empty sleeve. “How did you lose your arm?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Gringers told me that you belonged to Theon’s brother. True?”
Bhaldavin’s head lifted. Seevan had touched upon a raw nerve. “The Ni belong to no one but themselves!”
Seevan’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Some would argue with that, I think.” He glanced around camp. No one was within earshot at the moment. “We can talk about your people another time. Right now I want to know what Gringers is up to. Is it Barl-gan again?”
Bhaldavin didn’t answer. He felt no loyalty toward Gringers or Theon, but neither did he see any reason to betray them to Seevan.
Seevan’s hand shot out, striking him across the mouth. Bhaldavin’s head rocked with the blow. Flushed with anger, he ran his tongue across his lower lip and tasted blood.
“I’m waiting for an answer, Green One.”
Bhaldavin met Seevan’s glance defiantly. Gringers and the other raftmen might bend to Seevan’s will, he thought, but I will not! The use of pain and force to gain an objective was alien to him and filled him with obstinacy.
Seevan raised his hand again, but this time Bhaldavin ducked and threw himself sideways, rolling into a tuck that brought him to his feet a second later. He glanced around and dove for the nearest path leading out of the pine-tree enclosure.
Two men suddenly appeared before him. Startled by his abrupt appearance, they almost didn’t act quickly enough.
“Grab him!” Seevan roared.
Bhaldavin avoided one pair of hands and ran full tilt into the second man in line. He staggered and almost fell, but caught his balance and darted for the opening in between the trees. The second man grabbed the back of his tunic and swung him around, straight into Seevan.
Bhaldavin’s lack of combat training didn’t stop him from fighting. His doubled-up fist connected with Seevan’s nose in an overhand blow that brought a groan from the big man. Encouraged, Bhaldavin struck again, but his arm was knocked aside. There followed an explosion of pain that traveled from the point of his chin to the top of his head. Darkness fell upon him before he touched the ground.
Bhaldavin woke with the taste of blood in his mouth. He opened his eyes and found his head propped against someone’s leg. The sky was growing dark; the glare of campfire light came from the left.
He groaned as he sat up. His head and jaw ached, and the new hobbles about his ankles were uncomfortably tight.
Hands caught him as he swayed forward. “Easy, Bhaldavin.”
Bhaldavin nodded and wiped at his mouth. “I’m all right. May I have some water?”
Gringers handed him a hide flagon. Bhaldavin took a mouthful of water, swished it around to cleanse his mouth, and spat it out; then he drank the second mouthful.
“Why didn’t you answer Seevan’s questions?” Gringers asked.
“I didn’t want to.”
“Brave words. But if you weren’t a draak singer, I think you might be dead by now. To strike a clan leader is to challenge his authority to rule. Such a challenge usually ends in death for one man or the other.”
Bhaldavin took another drink and handed back the flagon. “I am not a man!” The last word rang with abhorrence.
“No, you are not,” Gringers said calmly. “You are Ni and a draak singer, and you should be proud of it.”
Bhaldavin looked more closely at the man’s face, trying to read behind his shadowed features. What was Gringers trying to say?
“I know you hate us, Bhaldavin, and considering all that’s happened to you, I think you have that right; but hate and stubbornness won’t get you what you want, which is your freedom. Man and Ni, we’re two different races, yet before the Sarissan War, we got along well together, at least here in the swamps of Amla-Bagor. But now all that is changed because there are so few of you left, and those we have, we dare not lose for our own safety’s sake. I want you to understand that, to know that what we’ve done to your people wasn’t done in hate or greed, but for survival.”
“Those you have?” It suddenly dawned on Bhaldavin that Gringers had spoken about other Ni among the rafters. “How many of my people are with the rafters?”
“We have four in the Ardenol clan, there are three with the Draper clan, and two each with the Freeborn and Windover clans. There are other smaller clans with no draak singers in residence. They usually form an alliance with one of the larger clans when spidermoss is ready to be gathered.”
Bhaldavin was silent for a little while, lost in his own thoughts. When he looked up, Gringers was watching him. “What is going to happen to me?”
“Seevan means to see you properly trained; then he will either keep you for himself or trade you to one of the smaller clans. You would bring a good price.”
“And what of you—and your dream?”
“That will have to wait for now.”
“Seevan asked me what you and Theon planned for the future. He mentioned Barl-gan.” Bhaldavin wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to offer the information.
“What did you tell him?” Gringers asked guardedly.
“Nothing.”
Suddenly Theon appeared, crossing the camp toward them.
“How is the watchfire coming?” Gringers asked as Theon squatted down next to him.
“We’ve wood enough for all night,” Theon said. He glanced at Bhaldavin. “How long has he been awake?”
“Just a little while. We’ve been talking.”
“About?”
“Rafters and draak singers.”
“Any thoughts yet on how we’re going to pry him free of your uncle?”
Gringers looked at the campfire, his glance falling on Seevan, who was busily talking to Ysal. “What we’ve stolen once,” he said softly, “we can steal again—when the time is right.”
Chapter 8
THOUGH THE PAIN IN HIS JAW MADE CHEWING DIFFICULT, Bhaldavin was hungry and managed to eat everything Theon brought him for supper, and he was licking at greasy fingers, half-listening to Theon tell Gringers about his fight with Ysal, when suddenly Gringers caught him by the arm.
“Up!” Gringers whispered urgently.
Bhaldavin was startled by the command and turned just as six or seven of the rafters approached, one of them carrying a torch. His heartbeat quickened. What was happening? Were they there to punish him for striking their leader?
Gringers kept a hold on Bhaldavin’s arm as the rafters closed in around them. Bhaldavin took courage from the strength in that hand and the set to Gringers’s jaw. The realization that he did not stand entirely alone helped to still the flutter under his rib cage.
He glanced at the faces of the rafters and noticed that two of them were not bearded. A moment later, he realized that those two were not immature ma
les, but rather females; the differences in form and line were unmistakable.
He looked at the female standing before him, his glance darting from breast to face. Her smile surprised him, for it held no anger or sign of distaste; it was a smile that told him that she knew where his thoughts had been the past few moments, but didn’t mind.
“My name is Markasa,” she said, introducing herself. “This is my husband, Rafer.”
The tall brown-haired man to her left nodded, his eyes bold and direct. “Welcome to the Ardenol clan, Green One.”
“His name is Bhaldavin,” Gringers said firmly.
Markasa’s glance snapped to Gringers. She nodded, accepting the correction, then turned to the woman beside her. “This is Vila, Bhaldavin. She is sister to Isten, over there.”
Brother and sister were blonds and very nearly of a height. Isten stepped forward. “We regret what happened earlier, Bhaldavin. Seevan has a quick temper and a heavy hand at times. Still, he is a good leader. Judge us not by his actions today.”
“What my brother’s trying to say,” Vila laughed, “is that you won’t be ill used by the Ardenol clan, and it’s our hope that, in time, you’ll be happy among us.”
Bhaldavin thought of the draakhide hobbles at his ankles, but swallowed words of anger.
Markasa went on to introduce the others. The names were strange to Bhaldavin’s ears, and he found it difficult to remember them. “And last but never least,” Markasa said, pulling someone out from behind Rafer, “this is Lil-el.”
The name struck a chord in Bhaldavin’s mind. He watched as the small female placed her hands together and bowed to him formally. She was standing in Rafer’s shadow, so he couldn’t see her clearly.
“Avto, Bhaldavin.” The voice was soft and clear; the greeting was in Ni. “My full name is Lilyana-elsvar, Wind-song at Morning. It is my hope we shall be friends.”
Bhaldavin caught his breath as the female’s head lifted and the light fell on her face. She’s Ni! he thought. He blinked, waiting for the vision to disappear.
Slowly he moved forward, closing the distance between himself and the beautiful Ni female. She wore her dark green hair in twin braids wound about her head like a crown. Her features were delicate, her lips finely drawn, and her winged eyebrows accented crystal-gray eyes that suddenly reminded him of his mother.
He reached out and touched her hand. “You’re real,” he said softly in Ni.
Lil-el smiled. “Would you like to talk awhile? We can sit over there, out of the way.”
Bhaldavin remembered Gringers and turned, seeking his permission.
Lil-el tugged on his hand. “It’s all right. You will be with me. Come. No one will stop you.”
“It won’t cause you trouble?” he asked, unsure of Lil-el’s position among the rafters.
“No one gives me trouble, friend Bhaldavin. Nor will they you, in time.”
Bhaldavin allowed himself to be led away. Lil-el carefully matched his shortened steps.
“What did they say to each other?” Vila asked as the two moved off.
“You’ll never know unless you learn to speak their language,” Gringers answered.
Markasa laughed. “You don’t need to speak their language to know what was said. One look at Bhaldavin’s face tells it all. They should make a good pair.”
Warmth flooded Bhaldavin’s face as he sat down where Lil-el indicated. Had she heard? Surely she didn’t think that he would… they had only just met… such a thing as pairing had not even entered his mind.
Lil-el sat facing the campfire light, as if she sensed his need to see her face. She still held his hand. “Don’t let their words bother you, Bhaldavin. Markasa is only teasing. It’s her way. Those who came to greet you are my good friends.”
“Friends?”
Lil-el saw the doubt on Bhaldavin’s face and nodded.
“And the others? Like Seevan?” he asked.
“He is not a friend, but neither is he an enemy. He is clan leader, and for that I respect him.”
“And Ysal?”
“Ysal is… Ysal. He will not change. One must accept him as he is. He’s a good fisherman.”
Bhaldavin looked closely at Lil-el. “What about Gringers?”
“He is a friend, one to be trusted. He may seem hard and aloof at times, but there is an awareness about him that is seldom seen among men. My father says he is del-dar, one who sees.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Bhaldavin asked, “Do you stay with the rafters of your own free will?”
“Yes and no. I could leave, but all that I hold dear, I would have to leave also. My mother and father ride Seevan’s raft; my brother, Tesh, rides with Isten. My place is with Rafer and Markasa. If one or two of us go out with the boats to fish or hunt, the others stay with the rafts to protect those who are left behind.”
Lil-el looked down at her hands, then her gaze returned to Bhaldavin. “Such a division of labor ensures that the ones who go out will return of their own free will. The love bonds that hold us are invisible, yet are as strong as the hobbles you wear this moment.”
Bhaldavin glanced around, making sure no rafters were within hearing distance. “If you could leave together? What then?”
Lil-el smiled sadly. “It is impossible.”
“Why impossible? If you all got together and planned an escape, wouldn’t you be able to…”
“The rafters make sure such a thing never happens. We are allowed to visit each other, but are seldom left alone for very long. It’s difficult to make plans with someone always listening to your every word.”
“Do all the rafters speak Ni?”
“A majority of them do. But enough of the rafters. Tell me about yourself, if you will.”
Bhaldavin found that he could not refuse Lil-el. Her voice stirred memories of another time, of days when the only language he had heard was Ni; now its soft lilting cadences brought back loved voices and scenes from his childhood in the Deep.
As he spoke about his homeland, Bhaldavin drank in the beauty of Lilyana-elsvar. How many times in the past few weeks had he despaired of ever again seeing one of his own race? How long had it been since he had been able to speak Ni fluently and be understood?
“The Deep sounds much like certain places in Amla-Bagor,” Lil-el said when Bhaldavin paused. “It’s a tragic shame that the Sarissa couldn’t live in peace with the People. Did any of your family besides you survive the war?”
Bhaldavin looked into Lil-el’s eyes and suddenly saw his mother. Memories came tumbling back: memories of burning homes, of people running, his father’s hand clasped tight in his as they fled the destruction of their village. Then they were at the river, and he was crouched beside his father. The Sarissa were coming at them. Ni scattered. Bhaldavin ran beside his father; his mother was right ahead of them. More men appeared. Bhaldavin stumbled and almost went down; he caught his balance and tried to catch up with his father. Kion pushed young Dhalvad into his arms and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Follow your mother!” he cried.
“Bhaldavin,” Lil-el said softly, “you don’t have to talk about it. It doesn’t matter. Bhaldavin? Can you hear me?”
Bhaldavin saw his mother holding Telia in her arms. She was running smoothly, not looking back. Just seeing her gave him courage; he lengthened his stride, trying to catch up.
Moments later he reached the shelter of some trees and glanced back, thinking that his father was right behind him. But Kion was back in the center of the glade fighting against four men. The branch and knife he wielded were little protection against the men’s swords.
Suddenly the scene wavered.
“Bhaldavin? Bhaldavin, are you ill?”
He heard Lil-el’s voice as if from a long way off. He tried to answer, but couldn’t seem to push the darkness back. He felt himself falling. Hands caught him, easing him to the ground.
“Gringers!” Lil-el called urgently. “Please come here, quickly!”
“W
hat’s wrong?” Gringers asked sharply, concerned.
“We were just talking,” Lil-el explained, “and suddenly he just closed his eyes and keeled over.”
Others arrived, demanding to know what was happening.
“Back off!” Gringers yelled. “Give us some room!”
Bhaldavin tried to speak, but his mind was sluggish. He felt strong hands lifting him.
“What goes on here?” Seevan growled, pushing through the crowd that had quickly gathered.
“You hit him too damn hard,” Gringers spat angrily. “If you’ve done him permanent damage, I’ll—”
“He looked all right a little while ago.”
“Well, he is not all right now. Get out of my way!”
Bhaldavin’s slide into darkness was slow; his last awareness was of Lil-el’s voice urging Gringers to try to keep him awake.
Bhaldavin woke to the sound of Lil-el’s voice. He opened his eyes and saw her sitting nearby. She was speaking to Gringers, who was rolling up his blankets.
“Lil-el.”
She turned so quickly she almost spilled the cup of tea in her hand. “Bhaldavin! Welcome back. You had us frightened.”
Gringers stepped over Bhaldavin’s legs and squatted next to him, a worried frown on his face. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” He looked at Lil-el. “What happened last night?”
“You passed out.”
“I blame Seevan for what happened,” Gringers said. “You took quite a wallop from him.”
“It might not have had anything to do with that,” Lil-el said. “We were talking about Bhaldavin’s homeland last night, when suddenly he just collapsed. It could be that he has certain memories just too painful to remember.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Gringers conceded.
Lil-el gently brushed Bhaldavin’s hand. “I think that it might be best if we spoke no more about the past, not if it causes you so much pain.”
After breakfast, Bhaldavin was taken to Gringers’s boat. Seevan came to make sure that Bhaldavin was secured so that he couldn’t heave himself out of the boat or tip it over, and before he left he gave Gringers orders to make sure such precautions were taken every day.
Beyond the Draak’s Teeth Page 8
