“Our safety?” The griffin’s dignified air only served to heighten the bite of sarcasm in his voice. “It is needless, but we shall, of course, acquiesce to the Matlal’s wishes.” He swept a graceful wing toward the hallway. “After you.”
Sym smiled with all the warmth and emotion of stone. “No, my lord, after you.”
As they marched down the hallway, Birdie glanced at the alcove in search of Ky, but he had somehow managed to disappear again. Probably meant to use Amos’s outburst as an opportunity to harvest a few items from the storeroom. Back in her torch-lit chamber, she dropped onto the low bench with Gundhrold at her side, while Sym took up position just inside the curtain. Distant enough to grant some semblance of privacy, yet near enough to warrant speaking in a whisper when Birdie finally summoned the courage to break the silence.
“Back in the cave, you spoke of my grandmother. Would you tell me about her?”
With a sigh that sounded as though it came from the depths of the earth, the griffin sank back on his haunches and regarded her with deep, sad eyes. “Auna. Her name was Auna. It means ‘dear heart,’ and never was a name more befitting. She was a dedicated Songkeeper—perhaps not as powerful as some, but strong in so many other ways. Selfless to the end …”
Enthralled by the spell of his words, Birdie tried to conjure up some recollection of the woman who had been her grandmother, but no image came. “What of my parents—did you know them too?”
“Nay, not I. Your father was Auna’s son—the eldest of two—but beyond that I know little of him, or of your mother.”
“But you know what became of them?”
“Only rumors, little one, so I cannot speak with certainty. It was said that your mother, father, and his brother were captured by the Khelari and taken to Serrin Vroi when you were but a month old. But they are dead—they must be—Carhartan as much as said so long ago.”
The crackle of the torch flames in their wall brackets seemed to magnify tenfold, filling Birdie’s ears like the whisper of the ghosts of all she had once dreamed. Her family was dead, and it should not come as a surprise. Not after all these years. Still, hearing it from the griffin’s tongue awakened a sore she did not know had been festering in her heart.
“The Takhran . . . did he kill them?”
It surprised her to find that her voice was steady even when faced with the end of all her hopes. She could not change the past. She could barely influence her future course. But this moment lay wholly in her control, and she would weather it with the strength of the cliffs of Nar-Kog.
“Would that I knew. I am sorry, little Songkeeper.” The griffin’s voice rasped like a blade drawn from its sheath. “Beyond the words Carhartan spoke—whether true or otherwise—there is no way to know their ultimate fate. No secrets to chase. No rocks to turn. No paths to follow.”
There was one path, but Birdie dared not utter it to the griffin. She hardly dared think it. But if she had needed extra incentive to travel to Serrin Vroi and brave the perils below Mount Eiphyr, she had it now. For there, in the Takhran’s keeping, lay the secrets of her past.
9
A fist thudded against the wall outside the curtained doorway, and Birdie started up in her seat on the bench. Evening hung heavy over the room. Though there were no windows through which she could track the course of the sun and the shadows, Birdie could feel it in the ache in her bones, the stiffness of her limbs, and the dull throb of exhaustion behind her eyes.
For hours she had sat in silence, trying to comprehend all she had learned, and the griffin had not disturbed her. So many questions tumbled about inside her head, and yet after all this time of desiring nothing more than the chance to ask and be answered, she discovered she could not find the words.
The fist hammered again. Louder. More determined.
Sym shoved away from the wall where she had been leaning and brought her spear up to bar the entrance. “Who is there? Speak.”
“Dah Inali, here to relieve you.”
Sym relaxed and righted her spear, setting the butt against the ground with a distinct rap. “You may enter.”
The curtain slid partway open, then a burly, flame-headed figure barged into the room, swept the spear from Sym’s hand, and flung her back against the wall. Her flailing arm swept a torch from its bracket as she fell.
“Amos?” Birdie started forward.
But Sym was up again, quick as an adder strike. She dodged the peddler’s next stroke with ease, one hand reaching for the quiver of throwing spears strapped to her back. Out of the corner of her eye, Birdie saw a second figure duck into the room—Inali. He raised a black tube to his mouth, squinting through his spectacles.
Before Birdie could shout warning, Sym swayed and fell, as if someone had cut away the earth beneath her feet.
The peddler spun around and flung his hands up. “What in the name o’ all things shrouded an’ secretive d’ ye think ye’re doin’?”
“Pardon me for saving you.” Inali stuck the tube through his belt like a sword and knelt at Sym’s side. Grabbing her wrists in one hand and her ankles in another, he slung her over his shoulder. “I’ve freed you once tonight, and I would rather not do it again. I prefer to commit treason as few times as possible.”
“She was but a wee thing. I had it under control.”
“Indeed.” Inali jerked his head toward the doorway. “Shall we go?”
Muttering under his breath, Amos yanked a torch from a wall bracket and motioned toward Birdie and Gundhrold. “I had it under control.”
“Undoubtedly.” Gundhrold’s nose lifted almost imperceptibly into the air. “But quick and quiet aren’t really Hawkness’s way, now are they?”
Ignoring Amos’s stifled indignation, Birdie followed the griffin out into the hallway and stumbled over an abandoned spear. She caught herself against the doorframe and stared, transfixed by the sight of two Saari warriors crumpled in a heap against the opposite wall.
“Excuse me, lass.” Amos slid past her, grabbed one set of ankles with his free hand, and dragged the unconscious warrior into the chamber with much huffing and puffing, then returned for the second. Once both were inside, he drew the curtain closed and spun on his heels to face the griffin. The action revealed the hawk headed dirk attached to his belt and a long, thin knapsack strapped to his back.
“Ye were sayin’?”
Gundhrold rolled his eyes, and a grin split Amos’s face. From the base of the wall, he retrieved the fallen throwing spear Birdie had tripped over and thrust it into her hands.
“Here ye go, lass. Look fierce an’ act like ye know how t’ use it. We might need t’ bluff our way out.” Without another word, he spun and took off down the hallway.
Birdie hurried after him, clutching the weapon with both hands. It was light enough that she should be able to wield it . . . if spear fighting was anything like broom wielding. “But where are we going, Amos?”
“High time we left this seaswoggled place behind, don’t ye think? These sun-addled people are as inflexible as steel an’ unbending as their sand-blasted cliffs. It’s gettin’ right tiresome.”
Without slacking pace, they rounded a corner and came face to face with Dah Inali crouching beside a bench with Sym’s limp form still dangling over one shoulder. He staggered to his feet, cheeks flushed and breath short. “I feared you decided it was safer to stay in captivity.”
Gundhrold’s chuckle sounded like snapping twigs. “That would depend on your definition of safe.”
“My definition? How about anywhere but here? Do try to keep up.”
“Hold up there.” Amos seized Inali’s shoulder, and from the Saari’s grimace, he was none too gentle about it. “What are ye doin’ with the lass? No need t’ bring her. Best ye stash her somewhere safe an’ quiet.”
“And leave her to sound the alarm?” Inali shrugged free. “I think not.”
Despite the burden he was carrying, Inali set a swift pace through the dizzying network of tunnels and passageways inside the cliff. They had not gone far before a sound like muffled thunder came from somewhere behind them, and a cloud of smoke bearing the sweet scent of steaming apples and cinnamon rolled down the passage.
Birdie clutched her spear until her knuckles whitened, catapulted back in memory to another tunnel where Underground runners had fought and died to hold off the Khelari she had led to them. She choked down the surge of guilt. “Ryree powder?”
“Aye, ’twould appear dwarf messengers are good for more ’n deliverin’ ill tidings.”
Inali whirled to face him. “Are you trying to make enemies of my people? They will not forgive an attack upon their own. If anyone was injured—”
“Look, lad, I’m no fool. I took care when I set the fuse.”
“But I’ve been with you ever since …” He broke off, brow furrowed. “Save when I slipped into the council chamber.”
“It’s naught but a wee diversion t’ hide our disappearance. Besides it’s time yer mahtems learned that when Hawkness sets his mind t’ somethin’, ’tisn’t healthy t’ stand in his way.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Ye’d do well t’ learn it too. Shall we be off then?”
With a grudging nod, Inali resumed his trek, moving with the utmost caution along an ever changing course and ducking frequently into empty chambers to avoid Saari men and women strolling through the halls. They met no warriors, but whether that was due to Inali’s skill as a guide or Amos’s fiery diversion, Birdie could not say.
At last, the passage ended abruptly at a stone door.
Inali jerked his head at Amos. The beads rattled in his hair and his spectacles teetered dangerously close to falling from the bridge of his nose. “Open it.”
The peddler passed the torch to Birdie, squeezed past Inali, and seizing the door with both hands, managed to swing the block of stone just wide enough for the griffin to fit through without ruffling his feathers too much. Holding the torch before her like a sword, Birdie followed Gundhrold onto one of the high arching stone bridges that spanned the valley between the two halves of the city.
Torches and fire pots peppered the opposite cliff, marking the road at regular intervals as it wound through the stacked rows of dimly lit houses. Above and below, the surrounding bridges were bathed in light as well, making the torch in her hand seem weak and feeble in comparison. It was barely strong enough to reveal the narrow walkway before her and throw into even greater relief the vast, impenetrable darkness on either side. But the torch was bright enough that she could see how the rocks underfoot were pitted and twisted by sand and wind, and in places had fallen away, leaving gaping holes through which the valley leered so far below.
Gundhrold’s wing brushed her shoulder and he whispered in her ear. “Never fear, little Songkeeper. I will not let you fall.”
The height didn’t worry her. Much.
“Dim moon.” Inali’s face crinkled as he peered up at the sky. “That is good. It will give us the advantage when it comes to passing through Kog, and in three days when we have arrived at the border, it will have waned completely. That should aid us in moving undetected past the Khelari.”
“What about the Saari?” At the breath of her words, the torch flickered, and she hastily shielded it with her free hand. “Won’t the Matlal send them after us?”
“It doesn’t sound like the alarm has spread yet.” Amos nudged Inali with his elbow. “Perhaps my diversion worked better ’n ye thought it would.”
“Oh the alarm has spread, have no doubt about that. But they will keep the news quiet for now, contained within the palace. Extend the search to the rest of the city of Nar when no sign turns up. But they will refrain from alarming all the citizens of Nar-Kog with word that the Songkeeper has abandoned them and Hawkness has gone rogue. Now that the Khelari are so close, Quahtli will not want to diminish morale.”
“Hawkness is an outlaw. Don’t know how much more rogue ye can go ’n that.”
Inali grunted. “In any case, the lack of moonlight would do little to aid us in evading skilled trackers once they are on our trail. It is well that we have taken the finest tracker with us.” He tilted his head to indicate Sym’s unconscious form still slung over his shoulder. “And I think it unlikely they will attempt to follow us, once it has become clear that we are no longer within the city. Quahtli knows his forces will be better spent preparing to defend Nar-Kog against the Khelari, perhaps even launching a preemptive strike. We, on the other hand, shall go across the bridge and then down through the city of Kog. I have mounts—saddled and supplied—waiting for us at the base of the cliff. We will be miles away before Quahtli and my sister realize we have gone.”
“Mounts?” Amos heaved the door shut. “Ye mean lions, don’t ye? That’s grand. Just . . . grand.”
10
Trust the Saari—mighty hunters, trackers, and warriors that they were—to keep their storerooms well stocked. Ky cast an appreciative eye over the crammed shelves and overflowing barrels that filled the fourth storeroom he had visited so far. All locked, of course, but unguarded, and when had locks ever posed a problem for a trained Underground runner?
It was Paddy who’d first taught him the art of lock-picking. Dizzier’s skill lay more in the area of brute force than any task requiring fine finger work. He’d sooner burst through a door and deal with the consequences of raising the alarm later.
Silent as a shadow, Ky crept from shelf to shelf, ignoring the ache of battered muscles and bruises deep as bone, a lingering reminder of his imprisonment on the Langorian ship, as he removed a few select items and stashed them in a borrowed sack. Cade always said a good runner took care not to harvest too much from the same patch. One apple could have been misplaced. Half a barrel could not.
So Ky filched a few rounds of flat bread from one storeroom, two chains of sausage links and a hunk of dried meat from another, several knobby, oval-shaped fruits from the third, and here in the fourth storeroom, a pouch of beans and a fist-sized chunk of cheese.
He nicked a piece of twine from the storeroom shelf and knotted it around the mouth of the sack. It was a bulky bundle. Not the sort he could conceal beneath his jacket. But he would need every mouthful of it before the journey was over, if the dwarf’s tales of a country in chaos were to be believed. Once he set his back to the cliffs of Nar-Kog, he didn’t plan on stopping for supplies until he could see the chimneys and rooftops of Kerby in the distance.
A muffled boom sounded somewhere deep in the palace. Ky dropped his sack. It landed beside his bare feet, spilled open, and one of the knobby fruits bounced over his toes. He scrambled for his supplies as a commotion broke out in the surrounding rooms and corridors—people shouting in the harsh language of the desert, running feet, cursing.
Ky slung his sack over one shoulder, crept to the door, and eased it open. Just a crack.
A group of Saari warriors—ten strong—raced past his hiding place with spears flashing in their hands and lions pacing at their heels. Less than a minute later, another ten quick-marched in the opposite direction. Ky had spent the past two days familiarizing himself with the ins and outs and secret byways of the palace. From the looks of things, something big had gone down back by the Matlal’s council chamber.
It was time to disappear.
He inched the door shut behind him, locked it with a flick of his wrist, and ducked out of the door-well, only to slam full force into a short, burly figure.
“Whoa there.” The dwarf caught him with both hands to the chest and shoved him back against the wall. “Watch where you’re going, Shorty.”
“Don’t call me that.”
The words snapped out faster than a stone from his sling, and Migdon’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Touchy, touchy, bucko my boyo.” He craned his thick neck to peer down the hall. “You the cause of a
ll this hullabaloo?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Pity. Thought maybe you were showing some real promise. Must have been that ryree powder I sold Hawkness. Wish I’d thought of it. The man has a talent for flair.” Migdon scowled and Ky found himself squirming beneath a scrutiny as fierce as any griffin’s. “You do still want to go through with this, right? I can help get you free of this lion’s den, but you can bet your tattered britches there’ll be worse dangers to come once I do. Once I land on a clear road north, you’re on your own.”
“Right.”
“You’re determined, bucko—I’ll give you that. Well then, let’s be off.” He turned to leave, and Ky noticed the bulging knapsack on his back for the first time. It had more pockets than the jacket of an Underground runner, a thin coil of rope strapped to one side, and the haft of a hatchet sticking out of the top.
The dwarf had come prepared to travel.
“But something’s happened. The Saari are on the alert. And my friends …” Ky shrugged in a gesture of helplessness, unable to say more. He had told Birdie he was leaving, but after all they had been through, to simply disappear without any sort of a good-bye felt wrong.
“Your friends have already cut and run. Why do you think the Saari are on the alert? Trust me, they’re long gone by now, and it’s past time we moved on too. Oh, almost forgot.” Migdon reached a hand into one of the pockets of his knapsack, pulled out a folded strip of leather, and dropped it in Ky’s hand.
Ky unfolded it to reveal a sling, identical to the one the dwarf had been using and not so very different from his own—save that it was far better crafted. Decorative stitching ran along the edges of the straps, and the symbol of a three-headed mountain was carved into the pouch. He let the strands slip through his fingers, relishing the oiled suppleness of the leather.
Songkeeper Page 9
