Nightpool (5 page)

Oh, yes, he thought bitterly, why not fall
off his horse, for instance? With his hands and feet tied, he could
be drowned at once and escape the dragon forever. Though he could
not be much wetter than he was. His clothes were soaked through,
and the horse was dark from the rain that had at last moved off
northward.

It was not until they had crossed the divide
and forded both rivers, and were climbing again, up the steep
mountain pass toward Shemmia, that Garit turned out of the mass of
horses ahead and moved back along the troops, reining in his sorrel
mare beside Blaggen. “Sivich wants you, Blaggen. I’ll take the boy
if you like.”

Blaggen nodded sullenly, untied the halter
rope that led to Teb’s mount, and handed it to Garit. Teb remained
silent and watching, surprised that Sivich would send Garit to lead
him, for surely their friendship had been suspect. When Garit was
sent to the coast to train the colts there, young Lervey had been
sent, too, and Teb thought it was because they had all three been
friends.

Now Garit’s face was tight, impatient.
“Listen well,” he said softly, reining his mount close to Teb’s.
“Be ready tonight. We’ll get you away if we can. Pakkna, Lervey,
and I. Be ready for whatever we tell you. . . .”
They could see Blaggen galloping back, scowling. Garit moved his
horse away, handed the rope to Blaggen. Teb felt happier and began
to look around him with interest as he imagined his escape.

The stony mountain flanked them now on their
left, and several hours’ ride ahead, inside that rocky ledge, lay
the ruins of Nison-Serth, the old broken walls and the caves and
secret pathways. Teb thought if he could escape to Nison-Serth, he
could hide there nearly forever.

Nison-Serth had been a temple-shelter in the
old civilization. The speaking animals had used it as much as
humans had, taking shelter in their travels, coming together there
for song and camaraderie, all the species and humans mingling
happily. Now, though the speaking animals still existed, they kept
to themselves and secret, and stayed hidden from humans. Of all the
speaking animals, it was the kit foxes who had most often visited
the sacred caves as they traveled across the land in their big,
restless family groups.

Teb’s family had picnicked in Nison-Serth
sometimes, the king and queen and the children leaving the palace
at dawn and galloping out, followed by old Pakkna and a pony laden
with hampers and rugs. That was before the dark raiders began their
attacks, before anyone thought of war.

After they had explored the caves, they
would come together to picnic in the vast central cave. Its stone
walls were blazoned with an immense and ancient painting that
showed a fierce black unicorn, a herd of pale unicorns, and moving
among them, the badgers and great cats and maned wolves, the sleek,
dark otters, the winged owls, and the pale silver kit foxes. Here
in the great cave Pakkna would lay out a delicious meal of roast
chicken and smoked trout, fresh baked bread, and the special white
cheese Auric was famous for, fruits from the orchards and hot
spiced mint brew and pastries filled with honey and nuts. Teb grew
ravenous, thinking of those picnics. His mother had loved the
caves. She had explored deep into them, eagerly touching the
ancient faded wall paintings and the carvings.

The caves of Nison-Serth were like a maze. A
child could lose himself there—or hide. Teb could hardly keep from
staring forward to where the stone ridge rose in a little hump that
marked its entrance. But Blaggen was watching him, and he lowered
his eyes and tried to look sullen and hopeless. Nison-Serth was
there, though, and he would have a chance, now that Garit and
Lervey were with him, and Pakkna, too. The old man was crippled and
slow, but he could ride, all right.

When Blaggen moved his horse ahead of Teb’s
into single file, where the trail narrowed, Teb turned to look back
at Pakkna.

He rode at the rear behind the servants,
leading three ponies laden with bags and clanging pots. His
grizzled gray beard blended against the mountain’s gray stone. Teb
looked at him, and Pakkna’s eyes held steady and kind. He studied
Teb a minute, a little frown of concern touched his brow; then a
small twinkle of smile lit his gray eyes.

Teb faced forward quickly. He imagined just
how he would slip out of the camp at night and rehearsed in his
mind the caves and tunnels of Nison-Serth. They clustered and wound
from one side of the mountain through to the far side, to come out
above the Bay of Dubla. If he could make his way through the
mountain, he thought he could swim the width of the bay to
Fendreth-Teching. And in Fendreth-Teching surely he could find
shelter. Though it was a wild land, the dwarfs and picthens who
mined the rocky mountains of the Lair were not evil, only secretive
and clannish. He would not like to climb high into the Lair
mountains, though, if there were indeed dragons about again on the
land, for the Lair was their nesting place.

He did not doubt he could escape Sivich,
once Garit cut him free; he didn’t dare to doubt it, or to think of
failure.

Sivich made camp at dusk, on the wet, high
meadows. Off to their left, in the west, the bare granite ridge ran
away north like the backbone of a great, sleeping animal, the sun
dropping low behind it. Blaggen left Teb astride the tethered horse
while he unsaddled his own, then changed into dry clothes. There
was a stand of saplings at one side of the meadow, and Garit and
Lervey began to stretch ropes between the trees to serve as hitch
rails for the horses. There were dead pitch pines, too, and one of
these was dragged to the center of the meadow, the dry heart of it
cut out for firewood and then set alight with oil-soaked moss.

When Blaggen was finished making himself
comfortable, he untied Teb’s feet and hands. “Get down. Hurry
up.”

Teb threw a leg over to dismount, and his
hands slipped on the wet leather. He fell and landed on his
backside in a shower of mud, sending the horse shying away. Blaggen
snorted with laughter, then booted him and shoved him toward a
small oak sapling. Here he locked the chain to Teb’s leg, locked
the other end around the tree, and dropped the key into his
pocket.

Teb leaned shivering against the little
tree, wondering if Garit could smash the lock. Or could he steal
the key? The last thin rays of the setting sun touched Teb’s face
before it dropped behind the ridge. He could hear distant bells and
could see a herd of tiny sheep grazing far down the hills, near a
stone cottage the size of a doll’s house, and a stream that
wandered off toward Ratnisbon. If those folk down there knew he was
captive, would they dare to help him? But Teb thought not; this was
Mithlan, a country cowed and obedient to Sivich. It had been the
first to fall to the dark raiders.

Ratnisbon was different. That country had
been hard won by Sivich in desperate battle against Ebis the Black,
and many of Sivich’s men had died on the battlefield. Ebis had been
thought killed. But he lived and he secretly brought together an
army of infiltrators—servants and grooms and other innocuous
townsfolk—an army that soon enough overthrew the captains Sivich
had left behind and took back their land.

Would Sivich try to recapture Ratnisbon?
Surely Quazelzeg, the dark lord Sivich served, would try.

Teb had only a vague knowledge or
understanding of the structure of the dark forces, but he knew they
employed many pawns such as Sivich, common soldiers lured to the
ways of the dark, swearing fealty to the dark rulers. He knew, from
his father’s words, that only by use of such ordinary,
inconspicuous people could the dark forces hope to rule completely.
Sivich, who had served his father’s army since he was a youth, had
seemed well above suspicion, doubly so because of the vehemence
with which he always spoke of the dark raiders and their ways. He
had seemed an adamant enemy of the dark.

The fire was blazing now, and Pakkna had
laid his big metal grill across one end and was putting on strips
of mutton. The great black soup kettle stood beside the blaze. The
smell of cooking meat soon began to fill the air, making Teb wild
with hunger. He drank from a puddle cupped in the sapling’s roots,
then lay back against its thin trunk. . . .

The next thing he knew, Pakkna’s hand was on
his shoulder, shaking him awake.

The fire had burned down, and the men were
gathered around it eating. Pakkna handed Teb a plate heaped with
mutton, boiled roots, and bread. Pakkna had flour on his gray beard
and streaking down his dark-stained leather apron. He leaned close
as he handed down the plate. “Knife under your meat. Late tonight,
cut the sapling down. Take the chain off. Don’t let it crash when
it falls. Tie the chain to your leg.” He dropped some leather
thongs into Teb’s lap.

“But Blaggen will hear. He—”

“He’ll be very drunk by that time.”

‘The jackals . . .”

“Drugged. Maybe dead, I hope.” Pakkna moved
away. Teb watched him slicing meat on the grid. What would the old
man put in Blaggen’s drink? In all the drinks? He had heard of
deermoss being used that way, to make men sleep. But would it work
on jackals? He slipped the knife from his plate and hid it under
his leg, then tied into the mutton and roots with both hands.
Nothing he could remember had ever tasted so good, hot and meaty
and rich. When he was finished, he sopped the gravy with his bread
until his plate was clean, ate the bread, then leaned back against
the oak sapling. He felt warmer now, and hopeful again.

*

He woke to darkness, the fire only embers,
and the camp silent except for snoring. He hadn’t meant to sleep,
not for so long. He fumbled for the knife. Where was Blaggen? Where
were the jackals? He could see nothing in the darkness. He listened
for the hoof-sucking sound of a horse walking the muddy ground, for
surely Sivich had set a guard. But he could hear no guard. Maybe
the guard was drugged, too? Were all the men drugged? He couldn’t
hear the jackals’ rasping snore, but sometimes they were silent as
death. He took up the knife at last, turned his back on the
sleeping camp, and began to cut into the tree in angled, silent
strokes, pressing down.

He cut steadily until a horse snorted; then
he froze and lay still. Had someone moved among the horses? Was
someone watching him? The horses shifted again, and he waited. Then
at last they settled, and he began to cut again, pressing harder.
The tree might be only a sapling, but the green oak was tough and
springy. He put all his weight on the knife. Was this all the help
Garit dare give him, the knife and the drugging of the men? But
Garit had said, “We’ll get you away. . . .” What
more do I want? Teb thought. Such help was a precious plenty, when
anyone caught helping him would very likely be killed.

Should he get away from the camp on foot, or
try to take a horse? He might set the whole line of horses
fidgeting. He was pondering this, pressing and sawing and wincing
from the blister he had made on his palm, when he heard footsteps.
He dropped down, shoved the knife under him, and lay still.

The steps came closer, and he tried to
breathe slowly and evenly. He could see the tall silhouette against
the embers. It wasn’t Garit; the man didn’t walk like Garit, and he
was too tall. Before the man loomed over him, Teb shut his eyes.
Then a hand reached under him and felt around until it found the
knife. Teb squinted to look, and could just see in the darkness the
way the hand held the blade, crippled and twisted.

Hibben knelt there fingering the knife.

It was all over now. Teb felt sick and
helpless. How had Hibben known?

Hibben turned, still kneeling, so the knife
swung close to Teb’s face as he raised it. And he began to cut at
the tree.

Long, heavy strokes, swift and sure. Teb
stared.

Why was Hibben helping him? Where was Garit?
Was this some kind of trick?

Hibben nudged his shoulder. “Stand up. Hold
the tree while I cut on through. I’ll take the weight when it
falls. Brace your feet.”

Teb stood up and braced his shoulder against
the tree, gripping the trunk against himself as tight as he could.
He could feel the trunk tremble as the knife sliced and sliced,
could feel the tree begin to give way. He pressed with all his
strength, then he felt it ease as Hibben stood up and grasped it
above him. He moved away when Hibben pushed him, and stood helpless
to do more. He felt, as much as saw, the tree let down, with a
whisper of leaves, onto the wet ground. He knelt at once, slipped
the chain over the stump and tied it to his leg, was ready to run
when Hibben pulled him up. “Come on.” He pushed Teb in among the
horses so he was pressed between their warm rumps. “This one,
here,” Hibben gave him a leg up, pressed the reins into his hands,
and backed the horse out of line, then led it with his own as they
moved away from the camp. Other horses moved with them, led by men
Teb could not see in the darkness.

Away from the camp, they stopped to mount.
Teb stared at the dark, moving shapes, trying to make out who they
were. Garit? He thought so, and breathed easier. And then someone
small, who could only be Lervey. They moved out at a slow, silent
walk; not even the bits jingled. Teb thought they were wrapped in
cloth. There was no sign of the jackals following, no heavy rushing
flight at them, no irritable, coughing bark. A rider moved up
beside Teb and touched his arm. He stared up into Pakkna’s bearded
face. Pakkna squeezed his arm, then moved on in silence. Teb
thought he heard Garit whisper a command. They rode for a long time
without speaking, up across the rising meadow, moving faster when
they were well away from the camp. Then at last they were on drier
ground beside tall boulders, and then on a rocky trail.