Western Shore ac-3

by Juliet E. McKenna

  The eye glinted and Kheda saw that a shard of crystal had been wedged into the rock there. Velindre stepped aside and as her magelight moved with her, the answering

  spark in the crystal eye shifted as if the beast were watching her. The shadows stirred and all the creatures on the walls shared an instant of illusory life with the dragon. Naldeth shivered and Kheda couldn't blame him. The effect was uncanny.

  'Why did she bring us here?' the young mage wondered.

  Kheda turned and saw that the old woman had gone. 'To trap us after all,' he spat.

  He saw instantly that there was no other exit from the cave and leaped up the slope, sword ready as he scanned the darkness. He cursed again as he found himself all but night blind thanks to the magelight in the cave. A step whispered on the dry earth and he turned, blinking as his eyes struggled to adapt to the moonlight.

  It was the old woman, clutching an armful of dry sticks to her bony chest. She looked at Kheda with wretched terror. Belatedly he recalled he had had to step over the old woman's pitiful bundle to reach the steep slope of the cave's entrance. He lowered his sword. She stepped closer, still tearfully apprehensive. Dumping the sticks on the ground, she took a hasty pace backwards, wrinkled chin quivering.

  'What's she doing?' Risala was close behind him.

  'Bringing firewood.' Kheda hesitated for a moment, then sheathed his sword and bent to gather up the scattered sticks. He stepped aside and nodded towards the open cave mouth. 'Offer her your hand. Let's get her inside.'

  'You're sure about this?' Risala still had her doubts.

  'We came all this way to find out more about these people,' Kheda reminded her.

  The old woman watched them warily as they spoke. When they fell silent, she stooped awkwardly to pick up a stick that Kheda had missed and offered it to him, her hand shaking.

  'Come on.' Kheda added the stick to his armful and smiled pointedly at Risala.

  She pursed her mouth but held out her hand to the old woman, who walked hesitantly towards her. Kheda took a last look around at the shadowy night before following them back into the cave. Once inside, the old woman took the firewood off him and squatted down to build a neat lattice on a ledge at the foot of the slope.

  'Can we risk a fire?' He noted black stains that suggested the stone had been used as a hearth before. Close to, he also noticed that the old woman had a distinct odour, mostly thanks to the hide wrap she wore, and to whatever was matted into her hair.

  At least she doesn 't smell of any fever or incontinence that would threaten us with some illness.

  'How is she going to light that?' Risala was watching the old woman askance.

  'Are you sure she has no magic?' As Kheda turned to ask Naldeth, the old woman stood up stiffly and walked towards the young mage. He and Velindre both stiffened. Velindre had set her magelight clinging to the rock wall just in front of the painted dragon and the pale flame flared azure.

  The old woman gently took Naldeth's hand, tugging at him. He followed her obediently to the hearth, mystified yet willing to cooperate. The old woman pulled his hand forward and thrust his fingers into the sticks.

  Kheda saw unmistakable exasperation in her eyes. 'She wants you to light it.'

  Naldeth smiled at her and looked at the others. 'I can keep the elemental aspects confined within the cave without anyone being the wiser.'

  'What about the light?' Kheda asked. 'A savage need not be a mage to have eyes in his head.'

  'It won't leave the cave,' Naldeth assured him.

  Kheda wavered for a moment, then nodded. 'Very well, then.'

  Naldeth smiled briefly as he gently removed the old woman's insistent hand from his wrist. Snapping his fingers, he dropped a scarlet flame into the dry twigs. They crackled and the fire rapidly shifted from the scarlet of sorcery to a reassuringly natural gold.

  'Do you think we dare sleep now?' Velindre yawned and Naldeth couldn't help but do the same.

  'You two can try. We'll keep watch, or I will, if you're exhausted.' Kheda glanced belatedly at Risala.

  She managed a thin smile. 'We can sleep when we're on the Zaise?

  'Are we taking her back to the ship with us?' Naldeth studied the old woman, who was sitting quietly by the fire, one hand on her bundle, studying the painted walls of the cave. Her expression veered from awe to fear and back again.

  'We'll discuss that in the morning.' Now there was firelight to see by, Kheda realised the outer layer of the woman's bundle was a furred and spotted hide faded to a dun between grey and brown.

  Not from any beast we've seen so far. Which isn't all that surprising, given that we've not exactly been on a hunting trip. I wonder if the furry beast is predator or prey?

  His stomach rumbled with protest at the thought of food. Risala came to sit beside him and tugged her leather sack open. 'Has anyone got any food left?'

  'I have a few pieces of sailer bread.' Naldeth looked surprised as he investigated the bag Risala had given him before they left the Zaise. 'And some meat.'

  'Share it out.' Kheda saw the old woman watching with open curiosity. 'Give her some as well.'

  'What do you suppose she wants with us?' Velindre accepted her meagre share and sat leaning against the cave wall.

  'How are we going to ask her?' wondered Naldeth. He tore a piece of sailer bread in half and chewed on his own portion as he offered the rest to the old woman.

  'I don't know.' Kheda watched her turn it this way and that, furrowed brow creasing further with bemusement.

  She sniffed at it and tried to take a bite. As she opened her mouth, they all saw she was lacking a significant number of teeth on one side of her upper jaw.

  'She can't chew that.' Exasperated, Risala shook her flask to attract the old woman's attention and unscrewed the cap to drip a little water onto her own sailer bread. 'It's softer this way,' she explained as she bit into it with an exaggerated smile.

  The old woman cocked her head on one side and held out her piece of bread. Risala wetted it for her and she tried again. A faint smile deepened the wrinkles on her fleshless face as she evidently found the bread more palatable.

  Kheda swallowed the last of his own bread with difficulty. 'Is there any magic you can use to make her understand our tongue?'

  'Us?' Unexpected pain twisted Naldeth's face. 'No, we—'

  'Elemental magic can't do things like that.' Velindre spoke over him sufficiently hastily to pique Kheda's curiosity.

  Is there something you 're not telling me? Or do you just want to avoid discussing another instance where all your vaunted powers can't actually solve a problem at hand?

  Kheda turned his attention to the old woman, who was steadily chewing the stubborn sailer bread. He saw her dark beady eyes slide from Velindre to study him with new frankness. The warlord found himself intrigued.

  'What do you want with us?' He tried to put his question into his tone, raising his eyebrows and spreading out his hands in supplication.

  The old woman narrowed her eyes, considering him thoughtfully. After a couple of abortive gestures that conveyed nothing to Kheda, she reached for a stick of firewood waiting beside the little blaze. Gnarled knuckles tightening, she snapped it clean in two and set the pieces down on the floor.

  'What does that mean?' Naldeth wondered, perplexed.

  The old woman silenced him with a peremptory wave of her hand and carefully counted out five more sticks. Looking at Kheda, to be sure he was paying attention, she picked them all up and, with an exaggerated lift of her elbows, tried to snap the entire handful at once. Laying the sticks down carefully next to the one she had already snapped, she folded her thin arms and looked expectantly at Kheda.

  He rubbed his beard. 'Do you suppose she knows she's vulnerable alone and that there's strength in numbers?'

  'It's difficult to think what else she could mean.' Risala handed the old woman a strip of the dried duck meat Naldeth had found in the depths of his bag. 'And she doesn't look stupid.'

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p; 'I don't think any of these savages are necessarily slow-witted.' The young wizard surveyed the intricate artwork decorating the cavern thoughtfully.

  'But why has she thrown in her lot with us?' Risala looked troubled. 'Where did she come from?'

  'Would you throw yourself on the mercy of that villain wearing the skull mask?' retorted Velindre.

  'Especially when you're old enough to qualify as dragon fodder,' Kheda agreed with distaste.

  'She knows we're wizards.' Naldeth picked a dark shred from between his teeth. 'She must have seen us take on

  the skull-faced mage. She saw us beat him. She must think we're a fair bet.'

  I'd nearly forgotten about that little display of yours. Thank you for reminding me, Naldeth.

  'Just what did you two think you were doing back there?' Kheda demanded abruptly.

  'Besides saving some innocent girl from being raped or worse?' Naldeth was wholly unrepentant.

  'And making sure that villain and his brutes were sufficiently distracted not to stop us escaping,' added Velindre tartly.

  'Will he come after us when it gets light?' Risala shivered even though the fire now had the cave cosy and warm.

  'Let him,' scoffed Naldeth. 'There's no subtlety to his magic, no sophistication, no true understanding. In Hadrumal he'd be no more threat than some buffoon at a masquerade.'

  Kheda was stung. 'We're not in Hadrumal, wherever that may be, and he has a sky dragon's power to call on. These people wrought havoc in Chazen with their crude magics.'

  'Only until you had magic to counter them.' Naldeth sounded incautiously patronising.

  Fatigue tripped Kheda into an ill-tempered response. 'That masked wizard couldn't brutalise these people without magic. Everything I see here tells me Archipelagan suspicions of mages are more than justified.'

  'It's not a question of magic,' Velindre broke in before Naldeth could snap back. 'It's a question of power, Kheda. I'll grant you magic gives that rogue his power, and sustains it, just as long as everyone else is too cowed to club him over the head some night when he's sleeping. But the magic is just the tool he misuses. There are warlords in the Archipelago who rule through fear and violence and they don't need wizardry to accomplish that, just the strong arms and sharp blades of their swordsmen.'

  'What about Ulla Safar?' challenged Naldeth. 'And I saw as bad as him and worse sailing the Archipelago with Velindre.'

  Kheda stared at him. 'There's no comparison and you know it.'

  Naldeth was unrepentant. 'At least we wizards curb our own if they abuse our common birthright. The Archmage and the Council of Hadrumal keep a very close eye on any wizard who shows signs of straying down perilous paths.'

  'They know you're here, do they?' Kheda retorted. 'Looking for some arcane knowledge to elevate your standing among your peers? Don't pretend you have no interest in power.' He shot an accusing look at Velindre. 'Dev told me you had ambitions to higher rank among your peers. Any benefit to the Archipelago last year was an incidental dividend as long as your curiosity about dragons was satisfied.'

  'Dev didn't know all he claimed.' The magewoman's tight expression suggested the contrary. 'And holding rank among the wizards of Hadrumal is a far cry from imposing this kind of magical tyranny.'

  'What are we going to do about that wild wizard?' Naldeth turned to her. 'I don't relish the thought of standing before the Council and telling them we hid in a cave until we could run away from him.'

  'Kill that sky dragon,' Risala said bluntly. 'You summoned up a false dragon to fight the fire dragon that attacked the Archipelago. If you think that savage mage is no more than a fool in a mask without its power behind his magic'

  'No.' Velindre refused absolutely. 'These dragons aren't evil, whatever your Aldabreshin superstitions might say. They're animals, even if elemental affinities make them magical. All they want to do is to thrive and

  survive and leave their young to come after them. It's not their fault if these savages have allowed these mages to subjugate them—'

  'You think they had a choice?' Kheda waved towards the old woman and was startled to see she had laid her head on her bundle and quietly gone to sleep. Refusing to be distracted, he returned to the argument. 'Facing fire and lightning with bare hands and stone knives? What about that girl who was caught in his spell's clutches?' Kheda turned to Naldeth. 'How should she have fought back?'

  'This is getting us nowhere and it's late,' Risala interrupted with sudden weariness. 'There's nothing we can do until the morning. Savage or not, she's got the right idea.' She nodded towards the old woman, who was now sleeping peacefully, curled up like a child.

  Naldeth wasn't about to let the argument go. 'What you have to understand about wizardry is—'

  'Just hush.' Velindre had lost her taste for debate the same as Risala. 'Go to sleep, Naldeth, or you'll be in no fit state to do anything useful tomorrow.'

  The younger mage's chin jutted belligerently, though he didn't say anything further. He settled himself against the wall as best he could and shut his eyes with a huff of irritation.

  Velindre sighed and her eyelids closed, her angular face softened just a little by the sinking firelight.

  Kheda was still too exasperated to think of sleep. 'I'm going to find more firewood.'

  Risala nodded resignedly. 'Don't go too far.'

  'I won't.' Kheda scrambled up the steep slope towards the entrance. Out in the dark night, the breeze was chill after the warmth of the cave.

  This whole day has just lurched from confusion to chaos time and again. Why did I ever come on this voyage? What are we going to do? What are we going to do with that old

  woman? What if we have to make a run for it, to escape that wizard in the beaded cloak or anyone else on this side of the river? Do we abandon her to her fate? If we don't, is she going to be the death of us, deliberately or all unwitting? And Risala expects me to find the answers in the heavens.

  He looked up angrily at the blithely twinkling stars.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When she woke, the old woman had no notion where she was. The walls of the painted cave were a meaningless blur in the half-light, while the smell of old wood smoke stirred confused memories of the village she had left behind. Then someone close at hand stirred and murmured, the sound like a brooding bird.

  Stealthily, she rubbed her eyes to wipe away the stickiness of morning. As her vision cleared, she looked covertly around, bony fingers clutching her bundle of precious possessions. Satisfied that the strangers were all still asleep, she sat slowly upright, biting her lip against pain and stiffness. Moaning would bring no relief and might wake the strangers.

  So they hadn't been some fever dream as she lay senseless somewhere, her only hope that she would be wholly dead before scavengers found her. Who were they? Where had they come from?

  She studied the two closest at hand. The girl was lying on her side, her knees drawn up like a child. The man was slumped against a ridge of stone running down from the roof to the floor of the cave, one hand protectively resting on the sleeping girl's shoulder.

  The old woman reached out, careful not to touch the sleeping girl, though. She saw that the skin on her own arm was only a little darker. The girl's flesh had all the silkiness of youth and good feeding while the old woman had long been half-starved, but they were not so different.

  w

  Apart from the girl's hair. Short as it was, the old woman could see it was as straight as falling water. She ran an unconscious hand over her own tight-curled, matted locks.

  Quite the strangest thing about the girl was her garb. The old woman risked a feather-light touch on a fold of the loose stuff that covered the girl's arms and body. It wasn't hide, of that much the old woman was certain. Looking more closely, she concluded it was somehow akin to the ropes everyone twisted out of grass and tree bark, but try as she might, she couldn't imagine how the two things were related.

  She gazed at the garb. The most wonderful thing about it w
as the colour. It was the pink of a sunrise sky or a cliff-bird's breast feathers, and patterned with silver leaves. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Not even the most favoured women of the most successful hunters had ever had anything so glorious to wear.

  The man stirred in his sleep and the old woman hastily withdrew to crouch beside her bundle, feigning sleep. She didn't hear him wake, so she opened her eyes again and studied him. His skin was a familiar hue but he had hair as brown as a tree scurrier's, even if it curled as tightly as her own. She recalled the reddish-brown tint that sometimes appeared in children's hair when the end of a long dry season left them with swollen bellies and shrunken limbs, their cheeks hollowed by hunger. But like the girl, this man was straight-limbed and well fed and showed no sign of having ever gone hungry.

  The old woman looked at the man's long knives, hidden in their hide casings. Whatever were they made of, that could be crafted into so long and narrow a blade? A niomentary pang surprised her. The old man would have been fascinated by these people and their strange knives.

  As the strangers slept on, the old woman shifted to sit

  cross-legged and considered the other two newcomers. She had never seen anyone like either of them.

  The older one, with the golden hair and light-brown skin, was fast asleep in a niche, knees drawn up and head uncomfortably canted to rest on one shoulder. The face was softened in sleep and lacked any hint of a beard, so the old woman concluded this one was most probably a woman, despite her lack of curves at breast or thigh.

  She clenched her hand tight against the desire to creep over and touch the golden stranger's hair. It was as straight as the dark-skinned girl's but cut shorter still. Would it feel like the pelt of some animal or like the sun-dried grass it so closely resembled? What lay beneath the stranger's dusty garb? The old woman could see the brown skin end and creamy pallor begin where the fibrous stuff the stranger wore had slipped awry around her neck. Was she parti-coloured like some lizard? Did she have stripes or patterns beneath her strange garments?