by Andre Norton
Blast! Mero had taken care of any chance to parley—and it was obvious these people weren't going to be spooked off by a display of power.
I'd better try something quick! Shana flung an attack of pain and blindness at the mind of the one holding the spear on her at the same time that Mero flung a second magical levin-bolt. This was a combination of the elf-shot magic that the elven lords used, and a mental attack of the sort the human wizards chose. It should have worked, felling her attacker. Even if he was protected against elven magic, he shouldn't have been proof against the combination of elven and human magics.
He didn't even blink. The attack went into that curious blankness that surrounded his mind, and was absorbed, effortlessly.
She stared back into the deep brown eyes of the warrior facing her, and took a deep breath.
I think we're in trouble, Keman said quietly, getting slowly to his feet as the warrior nearest him gestured he should do so with his spear.
Shana did not bother to thank him for the observation.
I think we should surrender, Kalamadea added, as yet more riders thundered up on their shaggy mounts, spears at the ready. I really do think we should surrender.
Fine, Shana snapped, without taking her attention from the spear pointed at her throat. Now—just how do you pro pose we do that? These are strangers; they don't know our language, and we don't know theirs! One wrong move— She didn't bother to finish the sentence.
Myre had led her two charges down into places that Rena had never dreamed existed in the estate cellars—not all of them very nice, most of them very dirty. The maid hadn't really wanted to take Rena along at all, even when Rena used the argument she'd used on Lorryn, but she had finally agreed when Lorryn told her flatly that he was not leaving without Rena. The maid had changed what had always been a faintly superior attitude to one that was faintly insolent. Yet Rena could not find it in her to object; they were, after all, at her mercy. She didn't have to help them.
They threw together what supplies and weapons they could as Myre led them to rummage through the storerooms; their short time before the household woke stretched considerably by Lorryn, and a magic he used to keep the inhabitants of the house sleeping soundly and a lot longer than they normally did. They didn't dare go out of the house itself, for there was no way of extending the magic to the stables and slave pens and beyond, so all of the useful weapons and gear (not to mention horses) that lay outside the house walls might just as well have been on the moon for all that they could reach it
They fled into the cellars carrying crude packs made up of bedding, with straps improvised from belts. Rena carried the food they filched from the kitchen, knives, a firestriker, and a single metal water bottle she'd found in the cellars. Lorryn carried his bow and his arrows, knives and sword, his own clothing and bedding, and things Myre had found for them: rope, a small axe, a huge square of waterproofed silk, and their heavy cloaks, which were too bulky for Rena to take.
There were exits to the outside from the cellars, doors through which barrels and boxes were delivered without having to take them through the kitchen or any other door. Myre tried all of them until she found one that was unlocked. They scrambled up over a pile of roots tumbled down through a hatchway from above, when she tried that and found it open.
The roots were filthy and hard as rocks, and Rena could hardly imagine how they could be made edible.
They popped out of the hatchway into the dim gray of false dawn, scuttled across the yard into the relative shelter of the kitchen gardens, and from there followed Myre across the paddocks and fenced-in home-fields toward the edge of the estate. Each field was bounded by hedges and ditches bringing irrigation water, ideal cover for someone who was escaping.
Except that they were going in the opposite direction from the gate and the road. Rena hadn't seen the point of that; the estate was completely walled in, and the only entrance was at the front of the manor. But she was afraid to say anything; Myre could decide to leave her behind accidentally, and in this half-light, it wouldn't be difficult to do so. Then what would she do? It would be rather difficult to explain what she was doing, dressed in the clothing of a male slave, carrying a pack, with her hair hacked off at chin length. Even if she made her way back to her own quarters undetected, the hair would still be difficult to explain, and taken with Lorryn's absence, would be bound to get her into immediate trouble.
Finally they came to the wall; made of smooth stone, it was many feet thick at the bottom to prevent anyone digging under it. It towered above them, and as Rena already knew, the top was well protected by shards of glass set into mortar. There was no way to climb it, and no way around it.
But Myre didn't seem dismayed; instead, she led the way along the fence as the false dawn gave way to the true blue-gray light of early morning. Rena was getting more and more nervous; in a little while the supervisors would be bringing the slaves out here to work the fields, and they would be seen. What was Myre up to?
But Myre clearly knew exactly what she was doing; she led them to something Rena hadn't even dreamed existed, a place where a small, deep ditch or aqueduct led under the wall. The tunnel itself was as black as a starless night, and seemed to be very long. It probably led underground as well as under the wall—a clever deterrent to escape attempts. Water came up to within a half a foot or so of the ceiling.
I see now why you asked if we could swim, Rena said, staring at it. The water looked very cold. Won't there be bars or something across the mouth of this, though? I can't imagine Father not barring this somehow.
Leave that to me, the slave replied, then looked over her shoulder at Rena with a sardonic expression on her face. Last chance to go back.
Rena shook her head, wordlessly. Now that she was in this, she was hardly going to turn back, no matter how difficult it got.
Myre snorted. Don't say I never gave you a chance. And with that, lithe as an otter, she dove into the water and disappeared.
A moment later her whisper echoed through the half-flooded tunnel under the wall. Are you coming, or not?
Lorryn took off his pack and lowered himself into the water, letting the pack float behind him as he towed it by one of the straps. It occurred to Rena that his bow was going to be useless for a while after this, at least until the bow itself and the bowstring dried out.
Oh well. What use would a bow be against Father's magic, anyway?
The water came up to Lorryn's chin, which meant it would be over Rena's head. Not a good sign. He let the current carry him into the runnel, and was quickly lost in the shadows.
Rena hesitated only a moment longer; it was growing light, and it wouldn't be long before someone came along here. She followed Lorryn s example and took off her pack, tying one strap to her own belt. Then, clutching the side of the aqueduct, she lowered herself into the water.
It was colder than it looked, and quickly soaked through her clothing. She couldn't feel the bottom at all, and suppressed the urge to panic. But she could not make herself let go of the side of the aqueduct. Her teeth chattered as she clung to the brickwork of the side, and worked her way hand over hand into the darkness of the tunnel.
That was where she discovered that the ceiling quickly dropped much closer to the water than it appeared from outside, and she found it was impossible to hold on to the side and still have room to breathe. With a shudder, she let go of her last handhold and let the sluggish current take her, hoping she'd be able to stay afloat.
She looked back over her shoulder. The light at the end of the tunnel receded slowly, though when she looked ahead, no new light showed where the other end might be. She was so cold now that her feet and hands were numb, and behind her, the pack was soaking up water and acting like an anchor, slowing her down. She tried to paddle forward without churning up the water too much—thinking that too much splashing might echo out of the tunnel and alert a supervisor to something irregular. With the pack dragging at her, it was hard work to keep her head above w
ater; she paddled more vigorously, gasping for breath as the cold water lapped around her chin and lips.
Finally a hand came out of the darkness and seized her shoulder; she stifled a yelp, knowing it had to be either Lorryn or Myre.
It was the former, clinging to a metal grate that blocked the tunnel. There's a door in the grate, Lorryn said, spitting water, his own teeth chattering. It's just under the surface. It's usually locked, but Myre opened it. Follow me.
By now there was enough light coming from the end of the tunnel for Rena to see, dimly. Lorryn patted her shoulder encouragingly, then ducked under the water. She felt his legs thrashing past her, then his head reappeared on the other side of the metal grate.
She hung on to the grate and felt cautiously under the water with her free hand and the toe of her boot, until she encountered the open space down there where the door must be. By then Lorryn was gone, floating away out of sight. She took several deep breaths, and told herself that if Lorryn—who was a worse swimmer than she—could manage this, it should be easy for her. Then she ducked her head under, eyes tightly closed, grabbed for the edge of the opening, and hauled herself through, head-first.
She had a moment of panic when her pack caught; it pulled her back under before she managed to get a good breath. Fear chilled her more than the water; she fought the pack strap mindlessly, thrashing and getting pulled under again and again, breathing in more water than air each time she reached the surface for a breath.
She couldn't even cry out for help; she kept choking on the water.
Finally her gyrations freed it quite by accident, and she bobbed to the surface as it dragged downward on her belt. She clung to the grate then, panting, until she recovered enough to follow her brother.
Fortunately, the end of the tunnel was not far away; now she was able to make out another dim half-circle of light up ahead of her, and a pair of dark blots that must be the heads of Myre and Lorryn side by side in the middle of the light. Now she actually swam, rather than letting the current take her or simply paddling like a child, and in spite of the drag of her soaked pack, she reached their side in a very few moments.
Lorryn heard her coming, and held out a hand to catch her. As she peered past him, she saw that the aqueduct gave directly out on a river, the bank here was overgrown, and the weeds hung down into the water, forming a screen between them and the open water.
The sun was up, but the day was overcast, and it looked like rain. Heavy, black clouds rolled sullenly across the small patch of sky visible from the tunnel, and Rena thought she heard the growl of thunder in the distance.
If you had to pick a day to run, this was a good one, Myre said, her whisper echoing down the tunnel. We should wait here until the rain starts. Once there's a downpour going, even patrols will stay inside until it's over—and a good strong rain will wash away tracks and scent if they try to follow us with hounds.
Rena was already soaked and cold; the prospect of traveling through the punishing rain of a thunderstorm wasn't a pleasant one.
But we're running for our lives! she chided herself immediately. Be sensible! What's a little water, if it will help keep Father from following us?
The only trouble was—if the rain kept people inside, it would follow that she and Lorryn might be missed sooner.
I can probably count on Father letting me sleep late this morning, too, after my little betrothal dinner, but what about Lorryn? How soon would his servants come to wake him? And would he actually be missed if he wasn't in his bed? Would they assume he was at a gathering and hadn't yet come home?
Thunder did rumble in the near distance, making her jump. Of all the things she had imagined she would do to find the dragons, this situation had never entered her mind. The girl dreaming in the garden, surrounded by birds, seemed another person entirely.
Lightning arced across the sky overhead; thunder exploded above them as Rena shrieked involuntarily, and the skies opened up.
Now! Myre said fiercely, and thrust herself through the weeds, out into the pouring rain.
Lorryn followed; Rena, gasping and clutching at handfuls of clay and tough weed stems, followed him. Myre was already halfway up the bank; Lorryn stopped only long enough to give her a hand out of the river before taking to his heels himself.
She scrambled up the bank behind him, pausing only long enough to wrestle her pack back on. She slipped and fell along the slippery clay bank so many times, she lost count; her hands stung and burned from weed cuts and nettle strings, and they were the only parts of her that felt warm.
Her sides ached, and she was panting for breath by the time she reached the top of the steep bank, and dove into the dubious shelter of a tangle of wet bushes beside Lorryn. Myre was already peering through the rain, looking for something. Rena was glad, now, that she had cut off her hair when she'd put on the slave's old clothing; at least she wasn't fighting masses of wet, tangled hair.
We need something faster than our legs, Myre muttered. Horses, maybe, if we can steal them.
What about a boat? Lorryn countered. There are usually small boats just downriver from here. Father keeps them there for pleasure-angling and dallying on the river.
Myre finally turned to look at him, her dripping hair straggling over one eye. Just how ornamental are these boats? she asked skeptically. We don't want to float off in something that screams 'elven lord.' And I don't know the first thing about boats, anyway.
I've used them, Lorryn assured her, and it doesn't matter how ornamental they are. I know how to use my magic, remember? I can make it look like—
Then he stopped, and Myre smiled sardonically. Exactly. And have your magic scream to anyone that can sense it that you're right down here.
He winced, shamefaced. Well, they aren't that ornamental, he muttered.
Rena remembered the boats; Lorryn had taken her out in one, a very long time ago, for a long, lazy afternoon on the water. Like every moment she had spent outside the bower, every detail was etched into her memory.
There may be some heavier boats that the slaves use on the other side of the dock, she said, closing her eyes to call the memories up. And if there aren't—well, pick the plainest, and I can make it plainer. I can fade the paint with my magic; that's so weak, I don't think anyone will sense it. And we can use the axe to pry off any ornamental woodwork; it's all just tacked onto the original boat, anyway.
Myre turned to look at her with surprise; she obviously hadn't anticipated Rena being anything but a tagalong and a burden. We can try that, she said shortly. We aren't that far from the dragons, anyway. The dragons will be happy to see you and shelter you, and once we're away from Lord Tylar's estate, it won't be hard to get to them.
She peered out into the rain once more. Come on, she said, gesturing to them to follow, and darted back out into the downpour.
The docks were there, and so were the boats, including those used by the slaves to catch fresh fish for their master's table. Lorryn and Rena untied the stiff, water-soaked ropes that held one of the boats to the dock at stern and prow; Myre stood in the middle of the boat and pushed it away from the dock with a long pole at Lorryn's direction. There were oars, but with this storm sending so much water into the river, they didn't need them. The current caught the light boat right away; with Lorryn at the rudder, it moved out into the center of the river with ever-increasing swiftness. It was left to Myre and Rena to bail out the bottom while Lorryn steered.
How long until we're off Father's land? Rena wondered fretfully, as she scooped water out of the bottom with a canvas bucket and tossed it over the side. Not only was rain continuing to pour down on them, the boat itself leaked at every seam; it was all she and Myre could do to keep the water level from rising dangerously. How long until the Council members are told that Lorryn is missing? What will they do when they know? Will they go back to the Council and report him or—She could not think of an alternative. She could not think of anything at the moment—
There they are!
The shout rang across the water from the bank; Rena looked up, startled, through a short swath of dripping, rainsoaked hair.
On the bank were riders, all elves, in full armor. One of them was pointing directly at them. Rena felt a tingle along her nerves, a shiver along her skin that had nothing to do with the cold.
Lorryn swore. They know it's us, he said, shortly. They're using magic to identify us.
And was their magic strong enough to seize the runaways—or even kill them here and now?
Myre looked around frantically, as if for a weapon or a means of escape. Can't you make this thing go any faster? she shrieked over the pouring rain and the thunder.
Of course he can! He has the power— Do it! Rena urged. It can't matter; they already know it's us and where we are! Hurry!
Lorryn dashed his hair out of his eyes with an impatient hand and let go of the rudder. He raised both hands over his head, as the riders on the bank milled, then retreated, obviously expecting an attack.
They must be some of Father's underlings, or they'd attack us now—
Hold on! Lorryn shouted. Rena obeyed instantly, knowing from experience that Lorryn never issued a warning unless it was necessary.
Myre didn't respond immediately, however; she was still looking around fruitlessly for a weapon or a means of protection.
With a crack and a flash of light, the boat suddenly lurched forward, throwing Rena into the bottom. If she hadn't been holding on to the side with both hands, she'd have been thrown overboard.
Just as Myre was.
Rena let go with one hand and snatched for the slave's clothing as the girl tumbled past her and over the side; too late. The last she saw of Myre was the girl's face floating above the water, vanishing behind the curtain of rain, as the boat accelerated with twice the speed of a running horse.
Stop! Rena shouted to her brother. We've lost Myre!
He shook his head regretfully, hands still held over his head, face creased with concentration. I can't! he shouted back. Once I let this thing loose, it goes until it runs out by itself!
