Exile's Challenge (39 page)

It seemed to Taza as he rose and took Debo's hand that they were not alone. The voice had come to him again in sleep,
and shown him the knowledge stolen from Colun, but now it seemed the voice took on magnificent form and he blinked and struggled to discern it through the lightning-pocked night. It was hard—like trying to pin down the images of a dream—but he thought he saw a splendid figure kitted in gold armor, riding such a horse as had never trod the plains of Ket-Ta-Thanne before him, and the figure turned in his skull-hung saddle and beckoned Taza on, pointing to a trail that ran between the twin peaks, and Taza knew a way through the mountains waited there to receive him. So he smiled and all his weariness was gone as he followed.

He found an entrance to the Grannach tunnels that he opened with dream-stolen knowledge, and took Debo inside.

The storm grew stronger, the mountains lit all stark black and silver by the lightning bolts that crashed down as if determined to contest the mastery of the skies with the vast uprising hills. Thunder roiled, echoing off the peaks, and though no rain fell as yet, the threat hung pungent in the air. Davyd gritted his teeth, urging his mount up the trail after Rannach. It seemed the thunder dinned against his wounds, and he felt afraid and terribly weary, and longed for rest, knowing he should find none until their purpose was accomplished or they be slain.

And are we slain, he thought, what shall happen then? Shall the Breakers flood through Salvation and then come against Ket-Ta-Thanne? Shall the indentured folk die for Chakthi's ambition and the Breakers' lust? Shall the People?

Inside him, a voice said,
No
, and he felt righteous anger fill him and warm him so that he forgot his aching body and his desire for sleep and urged his mount on until Rannach's stallion snorted a protest and Rannach turned in the saddle to look back.

“Soon,” Davyd called. “We'll find an entrance soon.”

Rannach looked at him with anguished eyes and ducked his head. “Do you take the lead? You'll know it better than I.”

Davyd did not know how he should, only that he would,
and so he heeled his horse past Rannach's stallion and led them on.

The tunnels smelled of stone and moss, and as Taza progressed deeper underhill light shone from the walls before him, fading behind like dying witchfire. None opposed his passage, and Debo was entranced with the journey, staring around and sometimes asking Taza where the Grannach were.

“Asleep,” Taza told him, “and we must go quietly that we do not disturb them.” Which Debo accepted, and only complained when his short legs grew weary, so that Taza lifted him up and set him in the pannier and carried him on through the silent passageway.

He supposed this was some tunnel the Grannach seldom used. Surely it was unwatched, nor was there much sense of use to it. There was no dust, but neither were there any signs of other passersby; only the strange light that glowed ahead and faded away behind. It was an eerie sensation, akin to his journey through the Matakwa camp, when he'd sprinkled his herbs unnoticed, all the time wondering if some fool such as Tekah might happen on him. And did he finger the knife he carried, still he felt a vast and certain confidence that he must succeed and claim his rightful destiny.

He came to a branching of the way and halted. Two tunnels went off to the left, and three more to the right. He stood within a circular chamber that appeared to be some kind of way station. A well stood at the center, flanked by stone-shaped benches, and around the cavity niches were cut into the walls with shelves inset that might accommodate a sleeping Grannach. More niches held food, which he raided, halting just long enough to satisfy his and Debo's hunger, and allow the child to dabble his fingers in the well water.

“What is this place?” Debo asked. “Where are the Grannach?”

He had not thought Debo would talk so much, but as the child chattered on he answered the myriad questions, knowing that it were best he keep the boy happy: he did not know
how far a voice might carry along the branching ways, and he must be careful.

After a while he rose and told Debo they must go on, not knowing which path to take, looking from one to the other, unsure. Then he saw the rider again, standing his dread horse within the ingress of a tunnel, and knew he was still guided and went that way, confident.

The trail curved around an outcrop of vertical cliff that thrust out from the mountains like the prow of some great ship sailing into the night. It reminded Davyd of the
Pride of the Lord
, and he felt a moment's hesitation as he shouted for the column to halt. This, he thought as he studied the lightning-lit cliff, was not so different from boarding that other vessel: surely a journey to another new land.

“It's here,” he said, not knowing how he knew, only that he did. “The entrance is here.”

There was no room on the trail for more than two other riders, and Rannach and Arcole brought their horses alongside, both staring at the blank rock and Davyd with a mixture of confidence and bewilderment.

Davyd dismounted, pain forcing out a grunt as his feet struck the ground, and went to the cliff. He placed his hands flat against the slick surface and, still not knowing what he did, shouted, “I am Davyd of the Commacht—I am Colun's friend—and I'd ask entry.”

Light sparked across the sky as if in acknowledgment, and an area of imponderable stone became an opening in which a quartet of Grannach stood. They wore armor—mostly breastplates and helms, but one with grieves and pauldrons—and all carried spears and axes, wide-bladed swords sheathed on broad belts. One stepped forward and said, “I am Vitran. What do you flatlanders want?”

Davyd said, “Passage underhill; and swiftly.”

Vitran studied him awhile, the spear he held cradled across his chest as if he'd as soon use it as grant entry. Then he shrugged and stood back.

“Enter and we'll talk.”

The cavern was large enough that it encompassed all the horses and the men. Ale was brought, and food, and discussion of the passage began in the slow and patient Grannach way.

It chafed on Davyd—far worse on Rannach—as Vitran insisted he hear a full explanation of all that had transpired: of Davyd's dreams and Debo's kidnap, the People's opinion of Taza, of Colun's thoughts and Morrhyn's—all of it, at great length.

Finally he said, “And you'd ask us to bring you underhill to the Tachyn country?” And laughed. “Do you truly believe this … Taza?… can pass unnoticed through our mountains?”

Davyd said, “Yes: he's guided by the Breakers.”

And felt a measure of guilty satisfaction as he saw Vitran's swarthy stone face pale, and the gesture of warding the Grannach made.

Rannach said, impatient, “Davyd is a true Dreamer. Morrhyn would name him his successor.”

Vitran frowned and said, “But he carries a thunder-stick. You name him wakanisha, but he's the look of a warrior. Does the Ahsa-tye-Patiko not deny that?”

“He is different,” Rannach said. “He guides us where we must go, and it does not matter to me. Only that I get my son back.”

“And you are akaman of the Commacht.” Vitran nodded ponderously. “I wonder what Colun would decide.”

“To bring us through,” Davyd said, “and swift.”

Vitran looked at him awhile, then nodded again. “You've Morrhyn's look about you, boy, so I shall trust you. Swift passage underhill, eh?”

Davyd said, urgently, “Yes.”

“Into the land beyond?” Vitran said. And when Davyd voiced his agreement: “And your horses? We cannot drop them down our cliffs.”

Before Davyd had chance to answer, Rannach said, “Then we leave them. We'll go afoot.”

“So be it,” Vitran declared. “And shall you all go?”

Arcole spoke then. “Can we beat Taza, it were better only a few go.”

Rannach said, “Why?”

“Because,” Arcole replied, “you shall all be demons to the Evanderans, and are Davyd's dreams all true then Salvation is likely alert, and any of the People shot on sight. Better only a few men, who can slip unnoticed through the forests and onward.”

“How few?” Rannach demanded.

“You,” Arcole said. “Me and Davyd. No more.”

Rannach nodded. Dohnse and others protested, but Rannach voiced them down: “It shall be so—as Arcole says. I go with him and Davyd, and you go back. Dohnse, I name you leader, eh? Tell Arrhyna and Morrhyn what we do.”

Dohnse scowled but offered no further protest, and it was decided. Vitran said, “Is all you've told me true, then best we go now.”

Davyd looked at Arcole, exchanged a smile, and laughed as Arcole rubbed the brand on his cheek, knowing his comrade felt his own fears.

Then they rose and began the journey back to Salvation.

Rannach had seen little of the Grannach's underhill world, and nothing to compare with the marvels he observed as Vitran brought them through the passages at a steady trot. Light glowed from unknowable sources and intricate carvings wound about the walls and roofs. Time seemed immaterial here, a concept without place in the Grannach's subterranean world, and when they reached the great cavern, Rannach had no idea whether he had trotted behind Vitran through all the night or only jogged a few hours.

Vitran halted on an ornately carved balcony overlooking the cave, allowing his guests a moment's breathing space in which to survey the vast hollow. Rannach stared about with wide eyes, then turned to Vitran.

“How much farther?”

“A ways yet,” the Grannach returned. “We'll rest here awhile and then go on.”

“My son is taken,” Rannach said. “I'll not rest.”

Arcole set a hand on the Commacht's shoulder. “We need to rest,” he said. “The Maker knows, but we've ridden hard, and we shall need our strength to descend the farther slopes.”

“While Taza has Debo?” Rannach shook off the placatory hand. “No; I'll not rest till I've my son back safe.”

“Do you not,” Vitran remarked, “I doubt you'll get him back. You need sleep and food—heed your friend. Besides, I must speak with my fellows and send out search parties. If it's as you believe and this child thief has found a way into our tunnels, then we'll likely find him, and you shall eat breakfast with your son.”

Rannach would have argued, but the Grannach allowed
him no opportunity, starting down the broad stairway that descended from one side of the balcony to the distant cavern floor at such a pace that none had time to speak. Rannach could only follow, each jarring step—for the stairs were designed for the length of Grannach legs, not a Matawaye's—reminding him that he was, indeed, mightily weary. Nor, he thought, would Vitran do other than what he said. Did the Grannach insist he rest, then rest he must—or attempt the tunnels alone, which he knew must be impossible.

Save Taza did it, and were Davyd's dreams true, then Taza would reach Salvation guided by the Breakers.

The akaman of the Commacht felt remorse then, for all his thoughts were with his son and he had given few to the plight of the People, who likely stood in jeopardy were the Breakers come again. He wished Morrhyn were with him, to advise him, and glanced back at Davyd, wondering at the talent in the strange young man.

Davyd came down the stairway with the look of a man suffering and refusing to admit the pain. His teeth were gritted, his hands locked tight about the musket he carried, as if he feared to drop the weapon. In the cavern's strange light, his hair shone silver as moonlit snow and his eyes held the same expression Rannach had seen in Morrhyn's. Then he caught Rannach's look and smiled, and Rannach felt a great and sudden confidence. Had Morrhyn not chosen this man to be his successor? How then could Rannach doubt his ability?

They reached the foot of the stairway and Vitran led them across an arching bridge that spanned a swift-running stream, connecting with another rising arc that brought them to an avenue where pillars of stone were shaped to resemble trees, dendrous branches all hung with stony leaves intertwining overhead. They went on to a steep stair that brought them to a house jutting from the cavern wall, and Vitran beckoned them inside.

A woman, her brown hair straight and fastened with silver brooches, came bustling out, two curious children peering from around her full skirts. Vitran said, “This is my wife, Greta. The younglings are Tobah and Eryan. Greta, we've guests.”

“That,” Greta replied, as if the arrival of three flatland strangers in her home were the most common thing, “I can see. And weary guests, by their look. Come, come.”

Within moments, they were ensconced on cushions, mugs of ale in their hands, Greta bustling about her kitchen as she readied food. Tobah and Eryan peered from a doorway, their eyes wide and wondering, remarking in whispers on the strange height of the newcomers until Greta called them away. Rannach watched them go, his eyes filled with pain. Vitran left them there, announcing his intention of organizing the search parties and vowing that Debo should be returned ere long.