One Realm Beyond (13 page)
“Here, Jesha,” said Bixby. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come keep your dragon out of trouble while we’re away.”
The cat, with tail high, sauntered over and sat next to Bridger’s snout. Her regal stance looked like a lion statue next to the entrance of a palace.
Cantor shook his head at the sight. “Come on. Let’s go.”
D
ukmee crept forward, his slow, even breaths hot against his face beneath the veil he wore over his hooded cloak. Invisibility was never a comfortable situation — too close and too warm for his taste. Inside the barrack’s walls, the buildings scrunched together in the manner of a small town. Narrow streets and even tighter alleys crisscrossed between the shabby and shabbier structures. Behind Dukmee, the two farmers trailed him closely, watching a small rod he held for them to see. When Dukmee paused to get his bearings, Ruese stepped on his heel.
“Ouch.”
Ruese jerked back.
Dukmee hopped on one foot, reaching down to replace the shoe that had slipped off when the farmer’s big boot scraped against his heel. He scowled at Ruese, hoping the fine kid leather hadn’t been scarred. He’d chosen this pair for their silent tread, not sturdiness. He hadn’t chosen these men at
all, and they had proven to be clumsy, not silent. They looked sturdy, but they hadn’t been tested against the King’s Guard.
In the dimly lit passages, Lem bumped into his brother. “Hey, Ruese! I can’t be running into you like that. The guards will hear us.”
“Tell him.” Ruese pointed in front of him and gingerly explored the space ahead with an outstretched hand. “I can’t see when he stops sudden-like.”
Dukmee spoke softly to the two farmers, “Quiet. We’ll remain here for a moment while I survey the route ahead.”
Lem, the father of the kidnapped boy, touched his cap and bobbed his head as if acknowledging someone from a higher class. “Right. We’ll wait for you here.”
Dukmee frowned and shook his head. Remembering that Lem couldn’t see his gestures, he spoke. “You don’t have to be subservient to me, Lem.”
“What?”
“Don’t tip your hat,” explained Ruese.
Lem shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“You touched the brim. It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not, you know.” Lem faced his brother and glared. “It’s not nearly as subs-zer, whatever, as doffing my hat.”
Dukmee’s whisper hissed one word. “Silence.”
Both men jumped.
Ruese narrowed his eyes as if that would help him see Dukmee. “Shouldn’t whisper, you know. All the hissing travels farther than the sounds of words spoken quiet-like. You learn that hunting in the woods.” He firmed his lips in a straight line as if keeping back more words. With a sigh, he relaxed. “Weren’t you going to scout the route?”
“I can do that from here.” For a moment, Dukmee
considered surrounding them with a sound bubble so that these loud farmers would not be heard. He discarded the idea as too time-consuming. “I’m using my senses to locate the people inside the castle, as well as the barracks. I can tell if they’re moving, if they’re sleeping, and if they’re directly in our path.”
Ruese scratched his head. “How?”
“It would take me too long to explain. Simply put, I smell, hear, or taste what is in that tunnel and beyond. The tunnel leads to a more secure part of the barracks. So far, we’ve not encountered any formidable resistance to our meandering within these confines.”
Lem scratched his head. “What’d that mean?”
“I don’t know. But I can smell the sewage.” Ruese shrugged. “Not as fragrant as manure in a hot barn.”
Lem pushed his brother aside and addressed the empty space before him. “Do you know where my son is?”
Dukmee nodded, then scoffed at himself. Stupid mistake. It had been way too long since he’d been invisible.
“Yes,” he said.
“By that sensing thing, smelling him?”
“No, I already knew where prisoners are kept.”
“He’s no prisoner,” objected the father. “He committed no crime.”
Ruese agreed. “Except being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Dukmee closed his eyes, gathering patience. Perhaps he should have left these two back in his healer’s shop. “Be quiet now. I have to concentrate.”
The farmers obeyed to the point that they scarcely moved to breathe. For a moment, the healer noticed the acrid scent of
anxiety surrounding the two men, underpinned by the earthy smell of determination. They were scared, but their mission to save Arend would carry them through.
Pushing the farmers and their problems aside, Dukmee focused his attention in the other direction. His perceptive skill slid through the sewage tunnel where fluid sludged in a canal down the center.
Dukmee slowed his breathing. In his mind, he saw a crude map of the barracks based on his visits to render medical assistance to the occupants. His senses gathered information, and colored dots appeared where people occupied small spaces.
“We’re blessed tonight, gentlemen.” He spoke in hushed tones but allowed the smile on his lips to lighten his words. “The soldiers worked hard today and filled their bellies with heavy food. Most of them are sleeping, and those at their posts are nodding, not fully alert.”
Lem breathed a sigh of relief. “Primen is with us. He has drugged those who would stop us from freeing the young men.”
Dukmee didn’t comment. Too many things could go wrong during this mission. “Remember my signals. We’ll not speak once inside the barracks.”
He turned to face the men and displayed the short carved rod. He held the baton in front of the farmers. They could see only the two ends as they extended from the invisible glove that covered his hand.
“When the rod is perpendicular from the ground, stop.” He turned his wrist. “If it’s horizontal, take cover.” He rotated the tip of the baton in a wide, slow circle. “Come, cautiously.”
Both men nodded with each new position of the stick in his demonstration.
Dukmee placed the rod in an upright status again and twirled it with speed. “Come, hurry, no need to hide.”
And last, he jerked the baton in a motion that clearly meant go that way, go fast.
“That’s it,” said Dukmee. “I’ll be a few yards ahead of you so I can spot danger before you come into sight. Remember, we knock them out. We’re not here to kill anyone, even soldiers.”
Could he trust them? Father and uncle had reason to be brutal if a guard got in their way of rescuing Arend and the others. He read the aura around each man. Serious, determined, but no red-hot anger, no revenge. He hoped no wild emotion would surge to the surface if their plans met resistance.
“We’re ready,” said Ruese.
“Let’s go get my boy,” said Lem.
Dukmee believed they were as ready as he could make them. He’d trust Primen to supply the rest.
The sewer tunnel reeked, but Dukmee had practice at blocking unpleasant odors. He couldn’t help the farmers, though. He traveled quickly, hoping to avoid his accomplices being overcome with nausea. They trotted behind him. Deciding that farmers who mucked out stalls had sturdy stomachs, he quit monitoring their physical state.
It was time to narrow his focus. At present, his mind followed the placement of each live being in the barracks. Surmising that three were canines, he sent a compulsion to sleep to their minds and dropped them from his running tab.
He knew when Bixby and Cantor entered the front gate, but he couldn’t find the dragon. He narrowed his focus to pick up just the dragon. Then he scoped for any dragon-like being. Nothing.
With a sigh, Dukmee went back to his more general reckoning of the opposition within the barracks. Soon he would
be close enough to the intriguing girl to hand off some of the mental work. He assumed she could handle the constant input of information. A suspicion that they shared a heritage grew with each observation of Bixby. Whether she understood her standing or not, he couldn’t say.
Bixby’s voice entered his thoughts. “
Bridger’s unconscious.”
“Have you engaged the enemy?” Before he could form another question
,
images of the dragon sniffing the bottle containing his sleeping potion spun in his mind. The dragon hit the ground.
“So that explains why I haven’t been able to locate Bridger
;
the dragon sleeps in an unnatural stupor
,
beyond my ken.
“That’s right.”
Bixby sounded slightly apologetic.
“We’ll have to carry him after the rescue.”
Dukmee sighed.
“Quite all right. We’ll manage.”
Was everyone on this mission inadequate? Thankful that Cantor and Bixby followed orders competently, Dukmee instructed Bixby how to reach the prisoner lockup within the barracks. Staying alert to the undercurrent of many minds, he led the farmers through the shoddy wooden maze behind the stone walls that fronted the building. Each time they approached a guard, Dukmee sent a calming wave of thought and put the man into a deep sleep.
A disturbance within the chamber where the captured young men were kept interrupted Dukmee’s carefully monitored assessment of their progress. On his signal, the brothers stopped. He groaned as he realized the full implication of the frantic energy farther down the passage.
Of course, the prisoners had not been fed a heavy meal. They were anxious about the morning, when they would be taken to some unknown destination and turned into emotionless guards. Instead of sleeping, they had plotted an escape.
Dukmee attempted to communicate with them all, a mass message, as he couldn’t allow them to run loose in the barracks. His thoughts practically bounced off the turmoil of their minds. He read panic and frenzy. He tried a single word command. “Stay.” No use.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lem.
“The young men are escaping.”
Ruese chuckled. “What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that just what we were planning to do this night?”
Dukmee sighed, loudly enough that both men realized something was very wrong.
“They’re breaking out, planning to fight all the way to the gate. That will get men hurt, both the soldiers and your boys. They have the determination to get out.” He blew out an exasperated sigh. “But they’ve made no plans as to where to go, where to hide, and have no idea of how to get food or how far they must flee to be safe.” Dukmee waved his baton. “Hurry. We must get to them before they get out of the prison area.”
He ran, leading Lem and Ruese by the shortest route. He liked subtlety, and this race to the rescue had not an ounce of discretion. If he had time, he could muffle the clomping of their heavy boots. If Bixby had worked with him for more than a few hours, she could be relied on to step in and follow his hasty directives.
And Cantor? Well, Cantor seemed a ready young lad.
Cantor breathed as he did when he went hunting, a quiet, slow, shallow rhythm. The passages of the barracks opened to the star-filled sky, and the dirt alleyways felt like forest paths.
But there the likeness ended. To either side, rough wooden structures rose with a stark ugliness unlike anything Cantor had found in the forest back home.
With his breathing hushed, he could hear Bixby, her soft breath and the slight swish of cloth against cloth as she moved. He heard her heartbeat, slow and steady. That surprised him. He’d only heard an animal’s heart when the creature was scared or had been running to escape danger.
The light fragrance of some flower tickled his nose. Lavender? No, honeysuckle. The scent had surrounded them earlier in the day when they sat in the ladder elms. He’d noticed the vine wrapped around the tree where he’d first seen her, camouflaged by her unusual apparel. Now she wore an invisible cloak and gloves, but he knew where she was by two senses other than his sight. And another sense, not one of the five. He’d have to explore this awareness. Was it an awakening power or just something special between him and another realm walker?
Waiting did not appeal to him. Words to encourage Bixby to move toward the trapped men formed on his tongue.
She slowed to a halt in front of him. Her hand touched his arm, her fingertips lightly rubbing his shirt sleeve. “We must go now, and hurry. The captives are about to make a horrible mistake and mess up our plan to rescue them.”