If the language hadn’t already given him away, the nose would have. The boy’s parentage was stamped on his face as it was on Shima’s. And there were only two of Lark’s brood Raven had not yet met, and one was female.
Raven said, “And you’re Tefira, yes?”
Tefira’s face lit in startled appreciation. Then he sighed. “It was the nose, wasn’t it? You’re not another Seer.”
“No, thank the gods,” Raven said fervently.
“Ah. I thought you might help me.”
Raven wondered at that a moment. If the boy had a question, why didn’t he just ask his master, Zhantse? Why would Tefira need help from another Seer?
He caught himself before he asked. Of course—this was the one that Shima was worried about. What had he said about him? That Zhantse had taken Tefira as an apprentice Seer and—Damn; he couldn’t remember the rest.
“Mmph,” Raven said instead.
Tefira tilted his head to one side. “But I might be able to help you.”
“Oh?” Raven asked, his interest piqued. “How?”
Dark eyes narrowed, watched him steadily. “You wanted to go with my brother and the Dragonlord, didn’t you?”
“I should have gone with your brother and my friend,” Raven corrected with no good grace. “But your master decreed otherwise. I still don’t believe his so-called vision.”
And if he said it enough times, he might even convince himself of it.
The boy shook his head, sending his long black hair flying. “Oh, no—trust Zhantse’s Seeings. He Sees true. And I hear in your voice that you know it as well.”
Raven scowled. He didn’t need some snot-nosed brat—
Ah, hell—he might as well be honest. He was angry because the boy looked so much like his brother Shima, may that bastard get saddlesores in the worst spot. “So how can you help me?
Now Tefira looked sly, and Raven saw that he was holding back a smile. “Zhantse said that you weren’t to go with them, yes?”
Raven shrugged, annoyed. Why bother to ask? Of course the boy knew the answer already. The whole damn tribe knew, no doubt. “Yes.”
“Just so.” The smile blossomed. “But he didn’t say you couldn’t follow them, now did he?” With that, Tefira gazed at him, all doe-eyed innocence.
Raven stretched his lips in something that wasn’t even meant to resemble a smile. “I already tried that.”
And if it hadn’t been for your damned mother … It still riled him how she’d anticipated his clever plan. It was even more infuriating that he’d left himself open to a possible attack by her. Some bodyguard.
“So you did. But you see, had you succeeded then, you would have caught up with them, and gone with them. That would have fulfilled Zhantse’s vision. But if you leave now …” Somehow Tefira managed to look even more innocent. “Interested?”
Raven caught his breath, thinking. The boy was right. True, it was splitting hairs as finely as any lawspeaker in a court of clan elders … .
Never mind that. The boy was right, damn it all.
“I’m interested. Now, what’s in it for you?”
The startled look on Tefira’s face made him laugh. “Don’t ever try to trade horses, boy,” Raven said. “At least, not with me. When I see someone looking at me more innocently than a newborn baby, I know there’s something afoot. Out with it, Tefira. It can’t be money; I don’t have much, and what I do have wouldn’t do you any good.”
The air of maturity that had so impressed Raven slipped at last. “Shima gets all the adventures,” Tefira complained, “and I never get to do anything. Just fast and go on vision quests that …”
“I … understand,” Raven said at last into the sudden quiet. A Seer—even a Seer in training—who couldn’t See wasn’t much use to anyone. No wonder Shima was worried about this one.
As if he’d never interrupted himself, Tefira went on, “Shima is the one to go hunting if we need it, he’s the one to carry messages to the different mehansos or to the plains tribes. Me, I have to learn what plants to use for a thousand and one ailments, where to dig the sacred colored clays and the prayers for each one, and memorize chant after chant after chant. I never do anything exciting. I’ve never even seen the ship that brings the trees for the Vale.”
Tefira scowled horribly at the weeds he still held as if just noticing them. “Oh, I forgot. I also get to weed the gardens,” he said, and pitched the offending tangle of greenery as far as he could.
“So your price is to go with me,” said Raven.
“Just so. You need me, you know. I can get supplies; you can’t—my mother will be watching you. Also, you’d never survive this land alone.”
“So your mother warned me.”
Tefira dusted his hands on the seat of his kilt. “She spoke the truth. So you’ll take me with you as your guide when you go?” he said eagerly.
“If I go,” Raven said.
Crestfallen as a puppy with a slapped nose, Tefira asked, “What do you mean?”
Knowing it was silly—he’d walked, after all—Raven still looked over his shoulder. There were other Tah’nehsieh working in other gardens but that didn’t concern him. None of them could understand Yerrin even if they were close enough to overhear. He beckoned Tefira closer.
“There’s a slight problem … .” Raven began.
Haoro stood before the priests’ council. “We must have a nira, and quickly,” he said. His gaze swept the men sitting at the table. Only three were of sufficient rank to challenge him, and of those three, one was already sworn to him. Of the two left, he knew one for a coward; Kuulu would never seek the feathered mantle.
That left Remui. Haoro met his eyes; was that a challenge he saw there?
Then the floor shook. And even though none of them was sealed to the beast below, pain lanced through them all. Haoro forced himself to stand firm even as the others bent beneath it.
His face grey, Remui said, “I will begin the preparations for the ceremony, nira.”
That evening, in the cool of the dusk, Raven rode Stormwind out beyond the mehanso. As was their habit morning and evening, they went a mile or so to a dry wash; its sandy bottom was perfect for a long gallop. From there they often spent the day exploring the surrounding countryside.
But this time was different. A figure wrapped in a colorful jelah sat atop one of the many low columns of red stone at the head of the path leading to the dry riverbed. It was as motionless as the stone beneath it.
Stormwind slowed and turned his head to examine the mysterious being with one eye as they approached it.
“I don’t see any weapons, boy. Do you?” Raven said, fighting to sound natural. He must have succeeded since Stormwind only shook his head and kept trotting.
Damn; who was it under that blanket thing, anyway? He wouldn’t put it past Lark to have guessed this one, too.
As they drew even with it, the shrouded figure held up a hand.
“I have a message for you.” The jelah fell back.
Raven strangled a sigh of relief barely in time. “You’re Zhantse’s apprentice Seer, aren’t you?” he said. He saw Stormwind’s ears tilt forward in interest.
“Just so,” the youth said. His voice was cool and distant. “I am Tefira. And this is my message: you are to travel to the valley of the Iron Temple to aid the youngest Dragonlord. I shall be your guide. This is a needful thing; be ready at dawn tomorrow.”
With that, Tefira stood up in a a single graceful motion. He said no more, nor looked back as he jumped down from the column and disappeared among the boulders. A few moments later, Raven heard a horse’s whicker of greeting and then hoofbeats moving away.
“Sooo—this is a change, boy, isn’t it?” said Raven. “Looks like we’re going on that journey after all.” To his relief, Stormwind nodded after a moment’s hesitation.
Thank the gods, we’ve put that one over Stormwind. Clever of Tefira to phrase things that way; made it sound like one of Zhantse’s prophecies with
out actually saying so and lying. And speaking of prophecies—damn, but the boy has the intonation down pat, doesn’t he? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that oracular tone was real.
Raven smiled a little as Stormwind started down the trail to the wash. My, my—wouldn’t Maurynna be surprised? Served her right, too; if everyone else had been sensible from the first, he would be with her and Shima now. Hell; the gods only knew what they might be facing and only two knives between them against who knew how many swords.
What good a third knife would be against those swords, he refused to consider. He’d find a weapon; perhaps he could jump a guard. He turned Stormwind back to the mehanso. They both needed a good night’s sleep. He and Tefira would have to ride hard if they were to catch up with Maurynna and Shima.
Fifty-three
It was nearly dark when Shima pulled up Je’nihahn. Maurynna stopped beside him, lost amid this land of stone canyons. They dismounted.
He called out something in his own language. “Now we wait,” he said to her. From somewhere nearby, Maurynna heard water gurgle; a spring, she thought.
Then came the sound of leather on stone, and two shadows stepped away from the walls. Even though she’d been expecting it, she still drew a sharp breath.
The shadows turned into young Tah’nehsieh men. They spoke quickly and urgently with Shima.
He turned to her. “Zhantse sent a fast messenger on ahead of us, and everything’s arranged. My cousin Amura in the slave camp is expecting us; Rasse,” he tilted his head toward one of the the men, “got a message to him earlier. Rasse and Omasua will care for the Llysanyins until we get back. They’ve been warned about them.”
“Did you hear that?” she said to Boreal.
The Llysanyin nodded. She passed the reins to Rasse, then dug into her saddlebag for Dharm Varleran’s sword. She belted it around her waist, glad the long-ago Dragonlord hadn’t carried a greatsword as Linden did. Her jelah covered this one nicely. “How far?” she said, picturing a long, long walk ahead of them.
“Not very,” Shima said. At her startled look, he explained, “The temple soldiers don’t like to come out here; it isn’t safe for them in these winding little canyons.”
Maurynna looked around; she could well believe it. This was wonderful country for setting ambushes.
“Then let’s get started. The sooner this is over, the happier I’ll be.” And I can find Linden again, which will make me happiest of all.
“This way, then,” Shima said, and set off. She followed.
It wasn’t much more than two candlemarks later, she guessed, that they came out on a ridge looking down into a narrow valley strewn with enormous boulders. Across it, the valley wall rose up into a high plateau. Below them were low buildings of stone; barracks and the slave quarters, she guessed. A road ran along the floor of the valley; it ended at a huge set of doors in the opposite side of the valley.
Gods, they’re big enough to get a dragon in—
Suddenly she realized she looked upon Pirakos’s prison at long last. She went cold inside.
“Hsst!” a nearby voice said.
Maurynna turned as a man crawled out of the darkness.
“Hello, Amura,” Shima said.
“Hurry,” Amura said in Jehangli. “They’ve been as nervous as cats since the Zharmatians started raiding—not that they’d raid here. We never know anymore when a patrol will come past. And there’s a rumor that the priests have chosen a new nira—and that means they’ll be going into the main tunnel soon.”
Amura spoke quickly as he led his cousin and the mysterious northern stranger along the valley road. “There’s a small opening down this way. We’ve found it’s the safest way to the caverns under Mount Kajhenral. A recent earth tremor ripped away the rock concealing it. There are unlit torches waiting for you just inside.”
“Thank you,” the northerner whispered. The message had said she was a Dragonlord; Amura remembered his aunt’s tales, and wished he could see this woman Change. Lark had said the northern dragons were nothing like Miune.
They were scrambling over the rocks to the opening when they were spotted by a patrol. At the first shout, Amura yelled, “Go around that rock and straight ahead. I’ll lead them away.”
He turned and ran, making certain the patrol saw him. He didn’t dare look to see how his cousin and the Dragonlord fared. He could only pray that they made it safely; and when a second and third patrol joined in the chase, he prayed that he would make it to a hiding spot before the Jehangli soldiers could catch him.
Maurynna stooped and snatched at the torches; they were right where Amura, bless him, had said they’d be. But they didn’t dare stop and light them; the patrol would be sure to notice a light where no light should be.
There was, she realized, enough moonlight filtering in for her dragonsight to see for a fair distance. Passing a torch to Shima, she said, “Grab hold of my shoulder; I can see enough to lead you in for a way. We’ll light the torches when they can’t be seen.”
Shima did as she bade him, and they set out into the bowels of Mount Kajhenral.
They were well into the mountain before the second torch sputtered and died. Maurynna stopped. The dark here seemed solid as a wall; she thought that if she stretched out a hand she would bruise it on the utter blackness before her.
She slid a foot forward, questing. “Ow!” Then, before Shima could worry, she explained, “Stubbed my toes.”
She steadied herself with one hand on Shima’s shoulder and rubbed her aching toes. Damn these soft boots, she thought. If only they had more torches … . Ah, well; no use whining over a missed tide as her old first mate used to say. At least this was something she could remedy.
Whether it was a good idea or not … She would not think about that.
“This is stupid. We’ll kill ourselves stumbling through here in the dark, and what good would we do Pirakos then? This place already reeks of magic because of him; I’m going to risk some coldfire. No one will notice it,” she said, and hoped she was right.
She raised a hand and drew a small ball of coldfire from the air. The Tah’nehsieh gasped. Maurynna set the coldfire to hover close to the ground. It revealed a path strewn with rocks and crevices, all waiting to turn an unwary ankle.
Rank stupidity indeed to try this trail blind. Maurynna called the coldfire to her and held it out to Shima. “Would you like this one?”
She had to smile at the wonder revealed on his face by the faint glow. No doubt she had looked the same when she’d first seen coldfire. The memory brought with it an ache of longing. To be back in her aunt’s garden once more, Linden by her side … She pulled herself back to the present. This was no time to lose herself in wishes and memories.
“Go ahead, take it,” she urged. “It won’t burn you.”
Shima’s dark eyes were huge as he stared at the coldfire. He reached out, hesitated; then, after a quick glance at her, stretched out a hand with more confidence. He cradled the glowing ball in his hands. The light pulsed with his heartbeat and shone through his fingers, the glow red with his living blood.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Her hand twisted again in the air, capturing another ball of coldfire from nothingness. Maurynna paused, listening, though for what, she could not have said.
All was silent; the mountain did not cave in on them; no army of priestmages appeared behind them. They were safe, thank the gods—or at least as safe as they could be. “I wonder how far away Pirakos is,” she said. “I hope Zhantse is right and that this is the way.”
“He is,” Shima averred. “You’ll see.”
Maurynna stared down the narrow tunnel revealed by the coldfire’s light. Like walking down a whale’s throat. Ah, well; nothing for it but to go on.
But before she had gone three paces, Shima pushed in front. “I should go first,” he insisted. “If there’s something evil in these tunnels, better that you have some warning.” He was away before she could protest … .<
br />
Or ask him about the tremor she heard in his voice. Did he know of something lurking in these tunnels that Zhantse had not warned her of? Her hand sought the sword hidden beneath her Tah’nehsieh garb. The feel of the hilt reassured her.
Not that a short sword would be much use against, say, a mountain troll from one of Otter’s stories—
Stop that!
She followed Shima.
Surely they’d been walking for days already. And here was yet another turn in this cursed, unending tunnel; this one was so sharp they couldn’t see beyond it. Maurynna sent her globe of light around the bulge of rippled stone that forced the detour. It bobbed warily around the obstacle, the light growing softer as it advanced a short way along the route. Then—
The coldfire died. Just—died. To Maurynna it felt as if it had been swallowed.
But by what?
“Why did you—” Shima began.
“That was none of my doing,” Maurynna whispered, shaken. “Something … Something … ate it.”
They clasped hands instinctively, listening. Maurynna held her breath, knew Shima did the same so that whatever had taken the coldfire would not find them. She thought of retreat, but her limbs would not obey her. All she could do was hold to the slight comfort of the hand gripping hers and wait.
A thought struck her. What if whatever it was sought light? She doused the coldfire Shima held lest it draw evil upon them.
The darkness fell, a thousand times heavier than before. Shima gasped; his grip tightened convulsively. The moment stretched on and on until Maurynna feared she would go mad from the suspense.
But nothing came for them.
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The air in the tunnel, so dusty and stale before, was sweet in her lungs. She leaned against an outcropping of stone, gasping. Shima’s fingers slid from her hand; she heard him sit down.
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