Deltora Quest #4: The Shifting Sands (6 page)

F
our finalists remained: Neridah, Doom, Glock — and Jasmine, for she had been pronounced the winner of her bout, even though Orwen had been felled by another.

Jasmine had only had a few brief moments to find out how Lief and Barda were faring. Both were poorly, but Mother Brightly, anxiously hovering over them, had told her that, like Joanna and Orwen, they would soon recover. Their injuries were not too serious, and they would be not much the worse for their defeat.

Seeing that her friends were in good hands, Jasmine allowed herself to be taken to the center of the arena to join Glock, Neridah, and Doom.

Foaming mugs of Queen Bee Cider were brought to them. The dark-haired young serving man was
plainly excited to be serving such great ones. He offered the tray to Doom, who took a mug with a word of thanks.

“Why do you serve him first?” shouted Glock furiously. He snatched another mug from the tray, tipped it up, and drained it dry.

The young man, plainly startled and frightened, began gasping words of apology.

“All is well,” said Doom quietly. “Do not upset yourself.”

Blushing scarlet, the young man held out the tray to Neridah and Jasmine. Neridah took a mug and drank it in a gulp. Jasmine, however, shook her head.

“Thank you, but I do not like Queen Bee Cider,” she said. “I have had water, and that is enough.”

As the young man stared, Glock grabbed the rejected mug. “All the more for me!” he crowed, gulping the cider greedily.

He turned to Jasmine, wiping his dripping mouth with the back of his hand. “Pray that you are not facing me next round, little water-drinking Birdie. I will crack your bones like egg shells. I will …”

A strange expression crossed his face. And at that exact moment, Neridah, beside him, gave a strange little sigh, bent at the knees, and fell to the ground. Glock gaped at her, then at the empty mug in his hand. His hand went to his throat.

“Poison!” he croaked. He turned, staggering, and
pointed with a shaking finger at the young man with the tray. “You —” he croaked.

The young man dropped the tray and took to his heels. By the time Glock, in his turn, had crashed senseless to the ground, he was already lost in the crowd.

People were running towards them, shouting and pointing. Jasmine stared at Doom.

“This is your doing!” she hissed. “That boy — you knew him!”

“What rubbish you talk,” he snapped.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. “You think that if the others are out of the way — if you fight only me in the finals — you will surely win,” she said slowly. “But you are wrong, Doom.”

He turned away so that she could not see his face. The officials had reached them now. They were shaking Glock and Neridah, gabbling and exclaiming. Only Jasmine heard Doom’s reply.

“We will see,” he said softly. “We will see.”

If fighting Orwen was like fighting a bear, this is like facing a wolf, Jasmine thought, as she and Doom circled each other in the center of the arena. A lean, cunning wolf.

The man was dangerous. Very dangerous. Her every instinct told her that. She feared him as she had never feared a human being before, yet she did not know why. She searched for a reason, then thought she had found it.

He does not care if he lives or dies, she thought, and despite herself she shivered with dread. She saw a tiny spark leap into Doom’s eyes and dodged just in time as he lunged for her.

The crowd, cheated of the semifinal contests and angry because their favorite, Glock, could not fight again, was in an ugly mood. A roar of boos and shouted curses rose up as Doom missed his prey by a breath. They were tired of this circling and dodging. They wanted action. They wanted blood.

Breathing hard, Jasmine whirled to face her enemy again. His mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “Where is your boasting now, little bird?” he jeered softly. “Why, you cannot master your fear enough even to put up a good show for the crowd. Run home and hide your head in your mamma’s lap!”

A flame of white-hot anger ran through Jasmine’s body, burning away the fear. She looked up at Doom, and with satisfaction saw the smile fade as he sensed the change in her. She saw his mouth tense, and a wary look creep into his eyes.

“You are tired, old man,” she hissed. “Tired to your bones.”

And as she said it, she knew that it was true. His long struggle with Barda had sapped his strength and dulled his reflexes. Why else had he missed her when he struck?

“Catch me if you can!” she grinned, and half-turned as if to run.

Taken by surprise, Doom took a stumbling step forward. She whirled around and kicked, whirled and kicked once more. She leaped away from him as he snatched at her, leaving him clutching the empty air. She jumped and attacked again and again.

With savage pleasure she heard his grunts of pain and anger, heard the crowd begin to cheer. Their excitement was mounting and so was hers. The game went on and on. Doom could not touch her.

The arena was a blur. She felt nothing but her own desire to punish and hurt. It was as though her blood was bubbling, as though her anger had turned into energy, surging around her body, making her feet and hands tingle. Laughing, she danced backwards as Doom came at her again, tall and glowering. The crowd howled. The roar was deafening. So loud … why was it so loud …?

She stepped back — and her heel hit solid wood.

She glanced behind her in shock and saw a wall, and above it, a mass of red, shouting faces. Only then did she realize how she had been tricked, how foolish her anger had made her. Little by little, Doom had pushed her to the edge of the arena. She had her back to the low wall that surrounded it. And he was closing in on her.

She sprang up, up and back, landing surefooted on the top of the wall as so many times she had landed on tree branches in the Forests of Silence. Behind her the
crowd was screaming. But Doom was close, very close, leaning forward, and his hands were reaching for her ankles. Hands like giant spiders. Arms like thick, hungry vines …

Pure instinct drove her to jump, to spring up and out towards him. For a split second his bent shoulders were her tree branch. Then she had thrust backward with her feet, launching herself into the air once more, sending him toppling forward. She heard him cry out, heard him fall crashing against the wall as she turned in the air and landed lightly on the sand far behind him.

She landed poised to run. Her only thought had been to escape. But her leap for freedom had done far more than that.

Doom lay crumpled by the wall, unmoving. The crowd was on its feet, shrieking her name. Slowly, in wonderment, Jasmine realized that the fight was over. She had won.

“So — it is all over for another year! And what a thrilling contest our final was at the last!” laughed Mother Brightly, as she hurried Lief, Barda, and Jasmine back to the inn after the presentation ceremony. “A little slow to start, perhaps. But then the fun began!”

She patted Jasmine’s shoulder affectionately. “You are a popular Champion, my dear. There is nothing the crowd likes better than agility beating strength.”

Jasmine was silent. The gold medallion hung heavy around her neck. A bag of gold coins was heavy in her arms. And her heart was heavier than both.

She felt sick at the thought of what she had become for a short time in that arena. A beast who took pleasure in hurting and punishing another. A fool who forgot everything in the heady delight of battle. She had been as vicious as the loathsome Glock. As drunk with violence as that reeking, bellowing crowd. If her conceit had been her undoing, as it so nearly had, it would have served her right.

Lief and Barda glanced at one another over her head. They knew her well enough to guess a little of what she was feeling. But Mother Brightly could not imagine that Jasmine was anything but proud.

“To tell you the truth,” she chattered on, lowering her voice, “I was very pleased to see that person Doom brought down. A proud and glowering man — with an unpleasant past, I am sure. I am certain that it was he who arranged for the cider to be drugged. He skulked away, you know, as soon as he woke, not even waiting for his 100 gold coins. Surely this shows that he has a guilty conscience.”

“Have Glock and Neridah woken?” asked Lief.

Mother Brightly shook her head sadly. “They still sleep like babes,” she sighed. “They will not be able to leave here till tomorrow. But Joanna and Orwen have left already. Joanna was limping badly and Orwen’s head
had a nasty lump, but they would not be persuaded to remain.” She sighed again. “It seems that having gotten their hands on the gold they had no further use for Rithmere.”

Lief had no desire to stay any longer than he had to either, and plainly Barda agreed.

“Sadly, we must hurry away, too, Mother Brightly,” the big man said tactfully, as they moved into the inn. “But we need to buy some supplies before we leave. Can you recommend —?”

“Why, I have everything you need!” Mother Brightly interrupted. “I sell all manner of travellers’ supplies.”

And so it proved. As soon as they had fetched Kree and Filli from their room, the companions went with Mother Brightly to a storeroom stacked to the roof with packs, sleeping blankets, water bottles, ropes, fire chips, dried food, and dozens of other useful items.

As Lief, Barda, and Jasmine had suspected, everything was very expensive. But they had plenty of gold to spend and, like other winners before them, they were happy to pay more so as not to have to wander the town. Within half an hour they had everything they needed. Then, at Mother Brightly’s insistence, they ate for the last time in the empty dining hall.

Lief did not enjoy the meal. He was plagued by the uncomfortable feeling that all was not as it should be. His skin kept prickling, as though they were being
spied upon. Yet who could be watching them? Neridah and Glock were still asleep. Joanna, Orwen, and Doom had left.

He shrugged the feeling off, telling himself that he was being foolish.

M
other Brightly was in high spirits all the time they were eating, but afterwards, when she had brought their weapons to them and they were preparing to leave, it became clear that something was on her mind.

In the end, she bit her lip and bent towards them. “It is hard for me to say this,” she said in a low voice. “I do not like to spread bad tidings about the Games, or Rithmere. But — you must be told. It has been known for Champions, and even ordinary finalists, to meet with … ill fortune, on their way out of the town.”

“You mean they are attacked and robbed?” asked Barda bluntly.

Mother Brightly nodded uncomfortably. “The gold coins are a great temptation,” she murmured. “Would you be offended if I suggested that you leave the inn by a secret way? There is a back door — reached by a
passage that runs from the cellar. The cider barrels are brought in that way, but few people know of it, and the back street is narrow, and always deserted. You could slip out unseen, easy as winking.”

“Thank you, Mother Brightly,” said Lief, clasping her hand warmly. “You are a good friend.”

The passage from the cellar was long, low, and dark and smelled sickeningly of cider. Their boots clattered on the stones as they shuffled along in single file, Barda bent almost double. They had divided their remaining gold between them, to make it easier to carry, but still it weighed heavily on their belts. Already sore from their battles of the day, they were soon very stiff and uncomfortable.

“We should, perhaps, have stayed the night at the inn and set out in the morning,” groaned Lief. “But I could not face the thought of one more hour in Rithmere.”

“Nor I,” muttered Jasmine, breaking her long silence. Kree, hunched on her arm, squawked agreement.

“At least we have what we came for,” said Barda, who was in the lead. “We now have enough gold to fund the rest of our journey — and more besides.” He paused, then added awkwardly: “You did well, Jasmine.”

“Indeed,” Lief agreed eagerly.

“I did not do well,” Jasmine said in a low voice. “I am ashamed. The man Doom jeered about my mother.
He made me angry. He
meant
to do it. He wanted me to forget myself — so I would perform for the crowd.”

“He tricked himself, then,” said Barda. “For in the end he lost and you won. Think of that, and forget the rest.” He paused, and pointed. “I see light ahead. I think we are at last reaching the end of this accursed tunnel.”

They hurried forward, eager to see the sun and to stand upright.

As Mother Brightly had told them, the passage ended in a low door. Light showed dimly through the crack beneath it. But as Barda drew the bolt, and the door swung open, a flood of sunlight poured into the passage.

With streaming eyes, almost blinded by the welcome glare, they crawled through the doorway one by one. And so it was that, one by one, they were cracked over the head and captured. Easy as winking.

When Lief came to his senses he was covered by some rough, foul-smelling cloth — old sacks, perhaps. His head was pounding. He was gagged, and his wrists and ankles were weighed down by heavy chains.

He became aware that he was being painfully jolted and bumped. He could hear voices, a jingling sound, and the plod of hooves. He realized that he was on the back of a cart. Whoever had attacked him was carrying him away from Rithmere. But why?

The Belt!

With a thrill of terror he dragged his chained hands to his waist and groaned with relief as his fingers met the familiar shape of the linked medallions under his clothes. His money bag was gone. His sword, too. But the Belt of Deltora was safe. His captors had not found it. Yet.

His groan was answered by the dull clank of chains and a sigh beside him and a muffled cry from a little farther away. So Barda and Jasmine were in the cart with him. He was absurdly comforted, though of course it would have been better if one of them at least was free. Then there might be some hope of rescue. As it was …

There was a guffawing laugh from the front of the cart. “The ticks are waking, Carn 8,” a harsh voice said. “Will I give them another knock?”

“Better not,” said a second voice. “They have to be in good condition on delivery.”

“I don’t see that this lot’s worth the trouble,” the first man growled. “The big one might be all right, but the other two are rubbish! Especially the scrawny little female. Champion my eye! She won’t last five minutes in the Shadow Arena.”

Lief lay rigid, straining his ears to hear more against the sound of rain, fighting down a feeling of dread.

“It’s not our business to say what’s worth the trouble, Carn 2,” answered the other voice. “It’s the old girl who answers to the Master, not us. The pod was told that from the beginning. The Brightly woman
supplies the goods. All we have to do is deliver them undamaged.”

Lief felt the blood rush to his head. Beside him, Barda made a strangled sound.

“The ticks heard us,” sniggered the man the other had called Carn 2.

“What does it matter? They’re not going to be telling anyone, are they?” sneered his companion. “Or d’you think that black bird’s going to spread the word? It’s still there, you know. Right behind us.”

They laughed, and the cart jolted on.

The journey continued hour after hour. Lief slept and woke and slept again. It grew colder and darker, and then it started to rain again. The sacks that covered him became sodden. He began to shiver.

“We’d better stop and get the ticks covered up,” Carn 8 growled at last. “Give them some grub and a drink, as well, or they’ll be dying on us. Then we’ll be in the muck.”

The cart jolted off the road, and finally came to a stop. The next Lief knew he was being hauled out of the cart and dumped roughly onto the ground. Agonizing pain shot through his head and he moaned aloud. Only the cold rain beating on his face kept him conscious.

“Be careful, you fool!” roared Carn 8. “How many times do you have to be told? Any broken bones Brightly didn’t put in her report and we’re in the Arena ourselves! Do you want to end your days in gladiators’ leather,
fighting a Vraal? Get him under the canopy, and be quick about it!”

The other grumbled. His face and shoulders loomed out of the darkness as he bent and grabbed Lief under the arms. And it was then that Lief’s worst suspicions were confirmed. Their captors were Grey Guards.

The Guards had made a rough shelter for their prisoners by stretching oiled cloth between the lowest branches of a tree. Barda, Jasmine, and Lief huddled together under this canopy, shuddering with cold.

Kree, who had followed them all the way from Rithmere, perched on Jasmine’s shoulder. But he could not help them. There was no chance of escape. Their leg irons were fixed to an iron peg driven into the ground.

The gags were taken off and they were given water and some chunks of bread. Then the Guards moved away. Dimly, through the darkness and the rain, Lief saw them crawl together under the cart where it seemed they were planning to sleep.

“I cannot eat weighed down by these chains,” Jasmine shouted.

“Hold your tongue or I’ll cut it out and throw you into the Shifting Sands, orders or no!” bawled Carn 2. “We passed by the Sands just an hour ago.”

“Lief, is the Belt safe?” whispered Barda.

“Yes,” Lief whispered back. “Did you hear —?”

“Yes. We are not far from the Shifting Sands. But this news is of little use to us as we are. Mother Brightly fooled us well.”

“I thought
she
was the fool,” Jasmine hissed bitterly, breaking off a tiny piece of bread for Filli. “But the secret way out of the inn was a trap.”

“The whole of the Games is a trap! With gold coins as bait.” Lief clenched his fists. “What better way to lure the best and strongest fighters, and make them show how good they are? And dear old Mother Brightly is there all the time, to make sure that as many finalists as possible walk tamely into captivity when it is all over.”

Barda shook his head in disgust. “We heard on the highway that few Games Champions are ever heard of again. Now we know why. They do not run away to spend their money in peace. They are taken to the Shadowlands to die battling wild beasts and each other for the amusement of the crowds.”

“And their gold coins, and even the Champion medallion, are taken to be used again!” Jasmine hissed. “It is monstrous.”

The rain eased, and they heard snores coming from beneath the cart. The Guards were asleep. With new urgency they began struggling to free themselves, though in their hearts they all knew that it was no use.

They had long given up their efforts and were dozing fitfully when Kree gave a startled squawk and there was the tiny sound of cracking twigs behind them.

“Be still!” breathed a voice. “Do not speak or move until I tell you. I already have your packs and weapons in a safe place. Now I am going to unlock your chains. When you are free, follow me as quietly as you can!”