Ashling

by Isobelle Carmody

  Brydda ceased his scrutiny of the streets to look at me for a moment. "I will send birds off as soon as we return to let the group leaders know about the meeting with you. It will take a few days for them to reply, though they have birds as well, because they will confer and scheme before responding."

  "Is it wise to let the rebels know in advance that I am to come?" I asked. "Especially if there is a traitor among you."

  "That there is a traitor is not yet certain. But even if mere is, we must ensure that as many rebel leaders as possible come to hear you speak. Otherwise the report they hear will depend upon the bias of the teller. And even if they were favorably inclined toward you, it is easier to dismiss secondhand reports as exaggeration. I will write so that every rebel leader feels they will miss out on something vital, unless they attend. The rest will be up to you."

  There was no sign of Brydda's earlier shattered disorientation; the big man was shielding himself from the pain of Idris's loss by concentrating on plans and schemes.

  We froze at the sound of scuffling, then relaxed as a cat darted out and disappeared in a shadowy alley. This reminded me that I had not seen Maruman since the previous morning.

  "I/Gahltha will keep youInnle safe," Gahltha sent gravely.

  He thought I was afraid without Maruman. In fact, I was afraid for the old cat, but there was no point in explaining. I would find him when I returned to the safe house.

  The rebel was silent now and I was certain bis thoughts revolved around Idris. I said nothing, knowing that no words would ease his pain. I remembered how deep the hurt of Jik's death had cut into me. Words had not helped then—and sometimes I had longed for silence as much as forgetfulness. Time had abated the immediate wrenching sorrow I had felt at the boy's death, yet even now the thought of it sometimes made a dull ache in my chest, like a long-healed scar echoing its birth.

  Suddenly Brydda signaled Jaygar to stop.

  "Idris' message said the overseer had been told to seek out the street of five inns," the rebel said, looking about. "We are almost there so we should assume we'll be watched beyond this point. We will wait here to intercept the overseer."

  "Do you know what he looks like?"

  He shook his head. "There are three paths leading into the street of five inns. Two come from the other direction and one from the direction of the inn where the sot stayed. I am sure he will come this way for he will almost certainly have been staying near the inn. There will be few enough people about at this time but you must tell me when he comes," he added, touching his head to indicate that he meant me to use my farseeking powers.

  It seemed a vague sort of plan. But then Brydda had a "knack" of guessing right, so I held my tongue and let him lead the way into a narrow lane between two high buildings. We dismounted and the horses moved deeper into the lane to wait.

  "What am I to do when I have him?"

  "You must turn him back," Brydda said softly. "Can you do that, so that he will not know what has happened?"

  I sighed. "I will try, but his mind might be ..."

  "Someone/funaga comes," Gahltha sent urgently.

  I froze and at once we heard a quick light step. It was a woman carrying a basket, and a few minutes later two boys ran by. Then, on the third sound of footsteps, I sent my mind flying out and breathed a sigh of incredulous relief to find the wiry little man coming down the street was indeed the very person we were waiting for. Best of all, his mind was wide open to me.

  Gently I rifled through his memories before coercing him into forgetting why he had come out. In the gap left by what was erased, I took an older memory of a rousing night's drinking from his memories, and re-established it as the memory of the previous night. I pinched a nerve and gave him a headache to match, then sent him around the next corner and back to his lodgings bewildered and disorientated.

  "It's done," I said aloud. "He has forgotten everything about this meeting, and believes he has been out carousing. I have made him forget about the slaves too. He now thinks they really did die in an accident. You will have to free them, though."

  "You know their location?"

  "Of course."

  "Good," Brydda said grimly. He cast a look at the sky. "We had better go on. The instructions said the overseer must stop at the public trough and drink, to identify himself."

  We moved out into the street on foot, leaving the horses to wait, and made our way into the street of five inns. There was a dirty-looking trough about halfway along, and Brydda stopped at it and cupped his hands to scoop some of the brackish water to his mouth. I let my mind loose, but I could detect no watcher. It made my skin creep to think that Salamander might be somewhere about us, watching from a window or a pool of shadow.

  A ragged boy stepped out of a doorway and I gasped in startled fright. His eyes skated along the empty street, passing us, then returning to settle. His lips were blue and he was shivering violently with the cold or fear. His eyes slid to me uneasily, then back to Brydda. "There was to be one man walking alone."

  "It is none of your affair," Brydda growled. "What are the words you have been told to say to me?"

  The boy seemed reassured by Brydda's roughness. "You are to go to the last inn in this street, and ask for the man in the best room."

  He turned and darted away down a lane.

  "He was frightened," I murmured, but Brydda had begun to walk again.

  The last inn proved to be a cheap roomhouse with a room attached for casual drinking. I grimaced, for compared to it the frowsy Good Egg had been positively luxurious. A rank smell assailed us at the door, rising from piles of stinking refuse to one side.

  I gagged at the stench as Brydda knocked, wondering what had possessed me to agree to such a mad scheme. My powers would do us no good because I could feel that the wretched place was constructed of rock lightly tainted with Beforetime poisons. Fortunately, this would not matter once we were inside the walls, as long as they did not lie between the slave supplier and ourselves!

  "I/Gahltha am here. I will kick the wall down if you do not return," the black horse sent stoutly. I felt slightly less afraid, knowing the fierce black horse meant exactly what he said.

  After a long wait a man with yellow-stained teeth opened the inn door a crack and squinted out at us. Brydda drew a little scrolled note from his pocket and handed it through the opening. "Give this to the man in your best room."

  The innkeeper grunted in derision, but he took the note in his grimy fingers before slamming the door shut.

  "What was in it?" I asked.

  "A note from my brother, Evan, introducing me as his proxy. And now we can do no more than wait and keep our sword hands free."

  We waited in silence and I spent the time adopting various creative ways of breathing, in an effort to filter out the foul stench of the place.

  The door opened again and the man indicated that we were to enter. Brydda gave me an encouraging pinch as I preceded him. If possible, the smell inside was worse and it was all I could do not to vomit. The rebel seemed completely impervious to it. I gulped and was glad I had an empty stomach.

  The innkeeper brought us to a room with a brown door and held out a dirty paw. Brydda dropped a coin into it, then knocked, and the innkeeper scuttled away as if he did not want to be there when the occupant appeared.

  This made me very nervous.

  The door opened a slit.

  "Enter," a papery voice rasped, and a shiver ran up my spine at the sound of it.

  At first, I thought the chamber windowless and unlit, but it was simply that Brydda's bulk had blocked the light of a cheap lantern shaded to throw its light toward us, leaving the rest of the room in darkness. The windows, if there were any, had been blacked out.

  The only thing I could see clearly was the pitted surface of a wooden table, and two enormous scarred hands with thick, powerful wrists resting on it. Between the hands were a wickedly curved dagger, carved with odd symbols, and the little scrolled note Brydda had sent in.


  The atmosphere of threat in the room was almost palpable and my heart began to gallop as Brydda stepped forward. "I am Arkold Bollange, Sirrah.... "

  "You do not resemble your brother?" the man behind said, his skepticism patently obvious.

  "Different fathers, Sirrah," Brydda said, and it was all I could do not to goggle at him in astonishment. In the blink of an eye, without the benefit of even changing his shirt, the rebel had transformed himself into a self-important fool whose pompous facade barely concealed the sniveling coward lurking beneath.

  I did my best to shape myself into the sort of cringing nitwit that I imagined such a man would choose as a servant. At the same time, I loosed a probe. It moved sluggishly because of the taint in the walls and floor. The first thing it told me was that the man seated behind the table was not alone. There were three others standing against the wall behind him.

  I bent my mind upon one of them and learned that he and the man next to him were hired killers. The third was known to them only as the slaver's assistant. The two hirelings carried knives, unsheathed, and had instructions to kill instantly after a certain combination of words.

  I tried the slaver's assistant, but his mind was shielded.

  "Why did not your brother come himself as was arranged?" the slaver was asking Brydda.

  "As he wrote in that note, Sirrah, Evan feared he was being followed and sent me in his place. I am here only as an emissary to discuss, ah, price."

  "Who is this gypsy?" The slaver's voice cracked out like a whip and I jumped.

  The two men with knives tensed and so did I.

  "My servant," Brydda blustered. "You could not expect a man of my stature to go about in an area like this without even a body servant? I can't very well use my own people. You need not worry about him though. He is defective except for a peculiar strength with his hands and feet that make him a useful guard in spite of his small stature."

  Again the silence, and I prepared myself to coerce the two with knives if the slave supplier gave the signal to kill.

  "Very well," he said at last in his sibilant voice. "But I do not want him brought again. I do not like gypsies, full or halfbloods. They are trouble and they are carriers of disease. Get rid of him."

  "Of... of course, Sirrah," Brydda babbled.

  The slave supplier became businesslike as he spoke of the price he would pay for each slave, and how this would increase with the number of slaves offered. The men in the shadows relaxed.

  "How will I reach you if there is a problem before then?" Brydda asked.

  "There will be no problem," the slaver said with chilling finality.

  "Of course not," Brydda babbled idiotically. "I understand perfectly."

  The slave supplier stood and even his hands were swallowed up by the shadows. A moment later, a bag of coins fell onto the table.

  "This is an advance on the payment for the five. You will get the remainder when I get the slaves if they are sound-limbed and not defectives."

  "I assure you ..." Brydda blustered.

  I summoned a coercive probe swiftly, realizing I had been so busy listening to the interchange that I had forgotten what I was there for. Sending the probe to the slave supplier, I was flabbergasted to find my way barred by another farseeking probe. Wrapped delicately around the slaver's mind, the alien probe had taken on the shape and feel of the host mind and in some places was indistinguishable from it.

  Unwilling to disturb the probe until I knew its purpose, I cast about until I found its source. It was the man in the shadows whose mind I had been unable to read. The slaver's assistant was a Talented Misfit!

  I hovered uncertainly, my mind reeling with shock. I had promised Brydda to get what information I could about Salamander, which meant getting past the othermind.

  I clenched my teeth and readied myself to attack.

  "Collection of the slaves will take place in two days," the slave supplier was saying. "Here is a map. The shed where you are to bring the slaves is marked on it. When you hear a knock thus ..." He rapped in a sequence. The movement brought him into the light for a fleeting second and I had a glimpse of bad skin, dark-brown eyes and a vicious slash of a mouth before he moved back into the shadows. "Then you will open the door. Do you understand?"

  I braced myself for a battle and let an aggressive coercerprobe fly toward the slaver's assistant. To my complete astonishment the othermind opened to me!

  XXI

  When we came outside, the sky arching above was a deep, icy blue and there were few stars, for the sun was near to rising. We could only have been inside the inn a short while. I felt as if we had been in mere for years.

  Gahltha whinnied a welcome and I stroked his neck in mute affection, realizing unexpectedly that whatever the enigmatic stallion felt for me, I loved him.

  "What did you find?" Brydda asked, as we mounted up.

  "Another mindprobe," I said. "Wrapped around the slave supplier's mind."

  Brydda turned to stare at me. "Are you saying there was a Misfit among those who skulked in the shadows of that room? Protecting him?"

  "Not just a Misfit. A Talent, and not protecting, though that is what I thought at first. Trying to get into his mind. I traced the mindprobe back to its owner. Do you remember Daffyd, who brought Dragon to Obernewtyn when I • was ill?"

  "The Druid's armsman? The probe was his?"

  I nodded, then we both fell quiet, perforce, for we had come to a lane where people were bustling about preparing for the day's trading. In one tiny market square a fire had been lit in a metal barrel and cloaked men and women stooped over it, warming their fingers. They were busy and preoccupied with their own affairs, which made it a simple matter to weave a coercive net that would make it difficult for anyone to keep their eyes on us. I wondered at the absence of soldierguards, given the events of the previous day.

  I thought of my first meeting with Daffyd; a chance encounter, if such meetings were ever really chance. I had been waiting in the Councilcourt to undergo the Misfit trial that would see me sentenced to Obernewtyn. Daffyd and another man had been waiting to see about a trade permit for the high country. I could not recall what words had passed between us that day as we sat there but, somehow, Daffyd had given me the courage to hope.

  I had never forgotten his brightness in that dark moment.

  We had met a second time after I had been taken captive by the fanatical ex-Herder, Henry Druid. Daffyd had been one of his armsmen. It had been there, at the Druid's secret encampment in the White Valley, that Daffyd and a number of others had been simultaneously awakened to their Misfit Talents, and emotionally enslaved by a powerful Misfit baby, Lidgebaby; there that he had fallen in love with Gilaine—daughter of the Druid, and despised by her father for her muteness.

  I had shown them and their friends how to free themselves from Lidgebaby's powerful overmind, in return for their help in escaping the camp. When the firestorm razed the Druid camp to the ground, Daffyd alone had escaped.

  Discovering the loss of his friends, he had been heartbroken, but he remained with us in the mountains for some time. He had left us during the last summerdays after Mar-yon had dreamed of his friends. He had been convinced they had survived, and was determined to find them. Mar-yon had told me the dream had been vague and the faces unclear, but Daffyd had not cared.

  We had not seen nor heard from him since. Until now.

  "Elspeth?" Brydda murmured with faint exasperation, and I realized we had entered a street that was empty.

  "I'm sorry, I was thinking about Daffyd. Yes, it was his probe. I am sure that his working for the slave supplier has something to do with his friends from the Druid camp."

  "Didn't he tell you why he is working for the slavers?"

  "There was no time. I farsent him the location of the safe house, and he said he would come when he could."

  "It is a pity we did not know that he worked for the slavers all along. It would have saved reading that slave supplier's mind. I doubt m
at was a pleasant experience."

  I licked my lips. "Brydda, I didn't farseek him. I couldn't. His mind was sensitive and he would have felt me at once. Daffyd stopped me just in time. He has spent months trying and still he has not managed it."

  "If he has been working for the slave supplier for so long, he must have some notion of where Salamander is," Brydda said.

  "I think not, since he is trying to get into his mind for that very reason: to find Salamander. That much he did tell me."

  The rebel said nothing.

  "I'm sorry, Brydda."

  "I know you are not to blame, Elspeth," he said heavily, "but if Daffyd does not come by tomorrow night with the knowledge of Salamander's whereabouts, we will have lost the chance to stop him."

  "But surely we can follow the slave supplier until he meets with ..."

  "You don't understand. Two nights hence, when I do not take the five slaves to the abandoned warehouse as agreed, Salamander will guess something is wrong. Knowing his reputation, there will be a short and savage bloodletting during which anyone with any connection to him will be slain. That slave supplier we met tonight will be one of the first to go if he knows what Salamander looks like, or how how to reach him. And perhaps Daffyd, too, though his ignorance might protect him. So you see, there will be no one to follow back to the source."

  "Daffyd will come," I said, crossing my fingers.

  The air was damp with the promise of more rain and dark clouds obscured the waxing moon as we came in sight of the safe house. In the gaps between clouds, the sparse morning stars were winking out one by one.

  "What did you do with the gypsy woman you rescued in Guanette?" Brydda asked suddenly, changing the subject.

  "We brought her to Sutrium to take her back to her people. She is ill," I added. The furrow between the rebel's brows deepened appreciably when I told him that I had made contact with the gypsies and meant to return her to them in person.

  "You take a terrible risk and I do not understand why," he said. "Gypsy folk have no loyalty or allegiance except to their own. What possessed you to interfere in the first place? After all, the woman was a gypsy, not a Misfit."