It took only a few minutes to get within sight of the bridge over the river. In Ramaj Ariye, the River Phye was white with standing waves and rapids that smashed against black rocks. Here near the sea, it was wide and slow, sated with brine, and sluggish. She glanced down at the water and then back at the road. The slick, gray river was heavy with silt washed from the soils of Ramaj Ariye.
There were few people on the bridge, and the two riders crossed the spans at speed. From the bridge, Sidisport looked like any normal town. It had seawalls to protect it from tsunami and the storms that broached the outer reefs; it had wide, arched gates at the main roads. The city was almost eight hundred years old—one of the oldest on this planet. It had been started as a colony by the Ancients, then filled with refugees from the domes. Now it was one of the largest cities in the nine counties—and a home to many raiders. Dion checked the holding thong on her sword, making sure it was easily loosened. As they reached the other side of the bridge, she removed the thong completely.
The city gates were as wide as a dozen carts, the outer areas full of quiet activity as the people began to go about their business. As she rode past, she couldn’t help eyeing the businesses. The workshops and textile sellers, groceries and guard houses … A painting in a gallery window caught her eye, and she made a note of the street so that she could return to check the price. It was a painting that Kiyun would like. She took a deep breath and let it out with the rhythm of her dnu. These structures looked so innocuous, as though blood had never touched them. Dion touched the hilt of her sword again. She, for one, knew better.
Most of the houses they passed were built of stone, not of coralline or the shaped trees that the Ariyens used. The structure of the city was also not one of circular hubs, but of houses built around private courtyards and squares of private commons. The two times Dion had been here before had both been at night, and she had seen little pattern in the buildings. Now, with the morning sun shining blindingly across the white stones, the city seemed light, not dark.
The messenger cut through to another main street, keeping their dnu to a canter. The inner areas were busy already. The streets, while wide enough to keep from being choked, were crowded. They had to push past two morning markets where wagons were parked on the sides of the road, piled precariously high with produce, dried meats, and pastas, while their vendors stood next to the display boards and discussed the merits of this planting or that crop with their customers. Dion had to dodge a child with a partitioned basket of boiled and raw eggs, while another with a load of extractor roots ducked under her dnu’s neck as she hauled the beast up short.
Between the buildings, Dion felt almost lost. Her sense of direction was fouled by the constant walls and movement of too many people. Only the sunlight, as it broke between roofs, showed her east from north or west. “How much farther?” she called to the messenger as they broke free of another bustle and headed south toward the seawall.
“Not far. We’ll have to circle and come back in from the west"’
“Isn’t it faster to ride through?”
He shook his head. “It’s not safe down there, Wolfwalker. Sometimes the merchants go at each other like six-legged rasts in a cage, and when they do, it almost always involves the waterfront. Better to ride around it, even if it costs a few minutes.”
“But people live along the seawall.”
“Aye, but if you’re not in the housing areas or markets, it’s better to stay off the streets until later in the day.”
She nodded. In her head, the wolfsong began to stir as if the wolves were rousing, and Aranur, not the Gray Ones, was wanting to hunt her trail. Dion’s lip curled back from her teeth, her nostrils flaring and her nose wrinkling. He’d be angry, she knew, when she returned. He would have ridden with her.
They zigzagged into a side street where the buildings were more utilitarian and the facades spoke of productivity, not produce. There was little traffic; the workers here did not start their jobs till later, and the streets, though close to the waterfront, were almost clear. They passed a lab, a glassworks, and a foundry before they turned into another main street where the apartments stretched in a row toward the seawall. Dion rubbed her sword hand on her thigh. The warm salt air seemed gritty here, as if it could not be cleaned by wind when it was within the walls of the city.
“To your left, by the stable,” the messenger called to her. “The apartment is two blocks down.”
She nodded.
When they turned the corner at the old stables, the sun hit Dion straight on. For an instant she couldn’t see. Then her dnu half reared in panic.
Instinctively, Dion yanked her sword from its sheath. Figures rushed at her from the sides. The gray fog in her head was suddenly thick. She swung her blade down, her eyes unable to see. Metal clanged; her swing was parried. Hard hands grabbed her legs. She jerked back and kicked at the hands, but they hung on. Her blade was caught in a sword breaker, then wrenched from her hands. Her dnu seemed to stumble. Abruptly, she was unseated.
She went down, striking out as she fell. Someone cursed under his breath as she kicked out viciously, and she realized that the entire fight was near silent. She opened her mouth to scream, but was struck in the gut. Her lungs and stomach recoiled. One of her knees hit the street with jarring force. She lunged back up. Almost, she broke free, jerking, striking, staggering to her feet, her mind filled with gray rage. Then one of them hit her on the back of the head hard enough to make her vision split. Her knees buckled like paper.
Instantly, her arms were trussed behind her with cutting force even as she was half dragged beneath the stable eaves and into the harnessing area. Her hands went numb within seconds.
Inside the raiders paused, stripping her weapons from her belt and boots. They did not touch her circlet. Then they hauled her around to face another man even as others took her riding beast and rode it out of the building. She tasted blood under her tongue and swallowed thickly. Her eyes were dark and flat. “Where’s the ringrunner?” she said harshly.
“Where’s your wolf?” the burly man returned. His black hair, half-curly, was rumpled as if he was not used to rising so early. His face was weathered and almost swarthy in the shadows. They stared at each other silently. “NeLosto?” the man asked over his shoulder.
“On his way,” one of the others returned.
He nodded. “We’ll take a short walk, Wolfwalker,” he said to Dion. “But a word of warning: No screaming. No calling out.”
She stared at him almost bitterly. “You think to threaten me? What have I to lose?”
“Other lives depend on yours. Think on that, Dione.”
He backed away, took the light cloak he was handed and flung it over his shoulders without taking his eyes off her. One of the raiders called him by name, and she tasted the syllables of it: neVenklan, like violence. She eyed him, memorizing his features. A moment later a thin line was noosed around her neck. Automatically, she pulled against it, but the noose instantly tightened. She froze before she choked. NeVenklan, behind her, breathed in her ear, “Not a good idea, Dione. I suggest you stay close to me.”
She didn’t fight them when they slipped a summer cloak around her and jammed a hat on her head, tying it on under her chin so that the noose on her neck appeared to be no more than a ribbon from the hat. The raider behind her put his own hat on, then put his arm around her as though he were her lover. She jerked away, choking as the line tightened again. There was a sudden surge in her mind as the wolves seemed to gather with her lack of breath.
The raider watched her eyes as she fought for breath, refusing to panic before him. Finally, he loosened the cord across her trachea. “I said, ‘close,’ Dione,” neVenklan said mildly. He tugged her back into position.
They walked like that—next to each other like lovers—down the street from the stable. Squinting, Dion could see the whole waterfront. There were wagons parked along the street, blocking its length with the bundles and boxes stacked around th
em. But there was no one working to load or unload them to whom she could call out. There were almost no dnu in the tether squares by each rowhouse’s set of stairs—even the dnu seemed to be roused late, for safety.
The houses in the first street were only two stories tall, as if they had been deliberately shortened to leave the second street’s views intact. Dion looked to her right. At this end of town the seawall was high off the bay—at least a dozen meters from the water. Beyond it the bay stretched out like a small, sparkling ocean. The sidewalks were wide with tree-shaped benches. The apartments that lined the street were tall and narrow, each one with its stairs and picture windows; each one with its tiny window boxes for herbs and vegetables. It looked picturesque, not dangerous. Dion bit her lip. When an older couple came out of one of the rowhouses, she automatically tensed.
“Uh-uh,” neVenklan said softly. He tugged on the noose so that she coughed. “You’ll lose your hand if you do.”
He shifted slightly, and she could feel the cold steel against her forearm above the ropes. She pressed her lips together. But in her mind, the wolves had gathered. Yellow eyes seemed to see past her thoughts. Lean muscles bunched with speed. It wasn’t Hishn—the thread of that Gray One was too far away already. But yellow, slitted eyes still stared back at her, and there was a gray din in her skull. The eyes confused her, but the din was the weight of the wolves nearby. They were hunting field rats in the scrub grass, and she could feel their hunger. Gray Ones, she called.
Wolfivalker! they sang back.
Help me.
You run with the pack. We run at your side.
Carefully, she built an image of Aranur and projected that, but the wolves snarled in her mind when she sent it. The image and scent of the inn bothered them. These were not wolves who had ever bonded; they were wild and skittish near humans. They wanted to hunt with her, to run with her, not to move into human towns. She built the image again, sending it this time with all the urgency she could muster.
There was a hesitation in the pack. Then they began to gather. As if their acquiescence had changed their openness to her mind, she could feel each one more clearly. Gray fur seemed to lift with the morning breeze. Wolf feet seemed to drum the ground. She breathed in, sharply, deeply, and didn’t notice the raider’s sudden pressure against her back.
Wolfwalker! they howled.
NeVenklan took her boldly down the long block on the waterfront. Sidisport followed the curve of the shore—half the town was protected, on the inner curve of the bay, while the other half of the city sprawled here, up along the bluffs, exposed to wind and weather.
Dion eyed the seawall that separated her from the water. NeVenklan caught her doing it and chuckled. “It’s fifteen meters down, Dione. There’s only rocks to greet you when you land, and the current is like a shark. Even if you survived the fall, you’d drown before you could scream.”
She didn’t bother to answer.
There were six Ancient schooners moored in the bay: one large three-masted ship, and several smaller two-masted vessels. Along the docks there were dozens of fishing boats—at least ten of which had been built by the Ancients—and dozens of ketches, sloops, and yawls. It was easy to tell the Ancient-built vessels from the others. The newer boats were built of wood or the fiber-and-glue layers that gleamed purple-white in the sun. They required constant painting and coating to keep them from breaking down. The Ancient ships and older boats were built of green-brown seafiber that seemed dull and lifeless, yet was made of living organisms—technology of the old ones still viable today. All that those hulls and decks required was enough seawater and sunlight to keep growing and enough sanding to keep them smooth. A new coat of seafiber every eight decades, to replace any wearing patches, and the hulls would stand up to the worst of storms, with the decks strong, and the masts unbroken.
Dion stared at the ships. She had promised herself a view of the sea, and she had it now, she acknowledged. And with the raider noose so snug on her neck, the Ancient science mocked her. With all their technology, the Ancients could not have foreseen how they would leave this world. Their dream of living with, not on, the planet was reality; but their other dream—of touching the stars, of soaring between sky and earth—had been turned to dust by disease and time, by the bloodlust of raiders and venges.
It wasn’t far to the raider’s nest. NeVenklan stopped at a set of rowhouses one block down, one block away from the seawall. They had taken no chances of her running away on her own dnu. Her riding beast was tied with two others to the hitching rail in the front of the house, and she had to walk to the building. Her healer’s pack had already been removed from the saddle, and neVenklan didn’t hesitate as he prodded her up the steps to the door.
Inside, she was thrust down the hallway and into a half-furnished room. In spite of herself she tensed when neVenklan passed the tail of the noose to another. He was close enough to kick. Her back muscles tightened as her body almost blindly started its move. Then, abruptly, he struck her cheek.
Her head snapped back. Her mind went blank. Then the red, wolf rage hit hard. Half dazed, she jerked free of the raider, ripping the noose cord from his hands. NeVenklan reacted instantly, grabbing at her shoulder. Hands caught her from behind, snagging the noose line, and the thin cord choked her suddenly like wire. Her eyes went wild. She couldn’t scream—the rope cut off her breath. Her lungs heaved instantly. Terror howled into her mind—her throat was being crushed. Wildly, she fought the bonds, kicking at the raiders so that two of them went down with her in a pile. Brutal hands grabbed her again. Her flesh tore beneath the ropes. She jerked free for half an instant and lashed out, catching someone in the groin.
The man bent slowly over, but another grabbed the ropes around her wrists and threw her brutally against the wall of the room. She thought her chest, her throat would burst as the air tried to explode from her lungs. Then neVenklan grabbed the line on her neck and loosened the noose. She slid to her knees, choking.
“Alive,” neVenklan said coldly to the man by the wall.
The other raider shrugged. “Alive enough.”
They eyed her. Slowly, she looked up at them. Her throat still felt crushed, and there was a burning on her neck. Something slid down her chest, and she knew it was blood. Her lip curled back, her nose wrinkled. Unconsciously, she bared her teeth.
NeVenklan nodded slowly, noting her unfocused eyes. “Enough,” he agreed.
He hauled her roughly to her feet, then prodded her up the stairs to an empty room. There was a heavy-duty hook in one of the walls, near the ceiling, and it was over that which he tossed the line. He brought the rope down at an angle across the wall and secured it to a cleat near the door. She was left there, tethered by her neck, with one raider at the doorway.
NeVenklan paused by the guard. “If you see her do anything odd, come down and get maLien or neProtel to stand with you. Do not get close to her. And don’t yell. Just come down to the landing and signal.”
“Aye,” the raider acknowledged.
Dion stared after neVenklan as he left the room, then eyed her captive space. Besides the guard and the shutters that blocked the window, there was nothing else to see. The room was dusty and dim. There was no furniture, no paintings on the wall. Even the one slight crack in the ceiling seemed a solitary statement.
Gingerly, she tested the noose, but it was chokingly tight. She tried jerking her head to snap the line out of the hook, but it was snug enough that the motion itself half strangled her. The man at the door simply watched. Finally, she stood, head down, her shoulder against the wall, trying to focus on the gray rage that had filled the back of her skull. Slowly, ignoring the swelling of her lips and the looseness of the tooth the raider had struck, she brought her thoughts back to herself.
“Gray Ones,” she whispered.
Woljwalker, they returned.
How long till you reach Aranur?
They were uneasy in her mind. The roads are crowded with human smells. This is no
place for us.
They won’t hurt you, she sent back with a snarl. You run with the moons at your back.
Wolfwalker!
“Hurry,” she breathed.
They growled in return, low in their throats, and the mental sound was unwilling, but she could feel them move, their bodies warming as they left the shade of the scrub for the open heat of the roads. It was already an hour and a half past dawn, and they had kays to go to reach the inn, but they moved like fire. Soon they would reach Aranur.
Slowly, Dion raised her head. She tried to ease the ropes on her arms, but they were tight as a miser. All she could do was lean on the wall and listen to the raiders in the room below. Their voices, muffled by the wooden floors, were still loud enough for her sensitive ears that she could make out what they said.
“It’s her, all right,” one of the raiders spoke.
“Aye. Did you see her eyes?” the other answered. “There’s not many who could lay claim to that color…”
“Bandrovic’s been waiting a long time for this.”
“Long enough,” another man agreed. “He could have grabbed the Ariyen months ago, if he wanted.”
“Like worlag sweetmeat,” the first one retorted sarcastically. “He wasn’t ready before. The venges showed him that.”
“You think he’s ready now? The Ariyen will put up a hell of a fight—he, of all people, should know that…”
NeVenklan’s voice cut into theirs, silencing the group. The voices, when they spoke again, were too soft for her to hear.
She bit her lip, as if that tiny pain would bring more focus to her mind. But the voices of the wild wolves, once they were called, seemed to hold on to her thoughts. She bit her lip harder. There was a snarled response in the packsong. Then the gray wolves curled like snakes around her thoughts, pressing in from all sides. “Aranur…” she whispered.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, her mind clouded with fog. It wasn’t until she heard neVenklan’s voice and the door opening in the room below that she was able to focus again.
Wolf's Bane Page 23
