Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (47 page)

Tali let out a gasp. He grinned, slack-jawed, as if it had been dislocated.

She turned the horse away. Red-whiskers was trapped by a network of needle-length thorns and he could hardly get free without making a lot of noise. But if he did – she shivered. At least she was armed.

The third man had disappeared, and he was the bigger worry. He was a burly fellow with a chest three times the size of her own and a dense stubble of coal-black beard. If he caught her he could snap her in half and, once the initial shock wore off, he was bound to come after her. If she dismounted she would have no chance against him. But she had to see how Holm was.

She loosened Lizue’s big knife, which she wore in a canvas sheath across her back. “Thank you,” she said, stroking her horse’s neck. “You’re a wonderful creature. Please don’t go away. I’ll just be a minute.”

Talking to the horse helped to maintain the illusion that she was not alone. She had got into the habit back in Cython, with her beloved pet mouse.

The dead man had fallen across Holm, obscuring his face and chest. Without moving the body, Tali could not tell if he were alive or dead. There was a lot of blood on the ground, though. Her heart clenched like a fist.

She could not bear it if Holm were dead.

“Tali?” said Holm, shaking her. “It’s time to go.”

It took her a long time to rouse. Since he’d woken her pearl with the heatstone helmet she had spent twelve hours a day sleeping, and even when wide awake she found it difficult to rise from her bed.

“Go?” she said blankly. “Where?”

Holm was packing their gear as he spoke. “The wind turned southerly in the night and it’s drifted the iceberg ashore.”

She struggled to her feet and dressed in her outside gear. “To Hightspall?”

“Yes, but if it changes it could take us back out to sea. We’ve got to go now, and find a place to hide while it’s still dark. The land hereabouts is enemy-controlled territory and there’re bound to be guard posts everywhere.”

“But I’ve got magery now. Why do I have to hide?”

“That you ask the question shows how much you have to learn. The greater the art, the less you should use it. And never if there’s any other way of getting what you need.”

“Why not?” said Tali, struggling to come to terms with this. She’d spent so long trying to find her magery, and now she had, she wasn’t supposed to use it?

“It leaves traces, and the print of every magian’s gift is different. Yours is not subtle. If you use a lot of power, Lyf will know. Beware!”

They went out, taking their packs and the remaining food but leaving the heavy gear behind, since they would be travelling on foot once they reached shore. The overcast had lifted and there was a little light from the stars and a paring of moon.

Waves were lapping at the iceberg. Tali looked around and there was water as far as she could see. “Thought you said we’d run aground?”

“We have. But most of an iceberg lies beneath the water.”

Tali did a quick calculation. “So the water here could be a hundred feet deep. Or more. How do we get to shore?”

“One of my more remarkable creations,” Holm said smugly, and led her down to the lower end of the iceberg. “Made it while you were snoring the night away. It’s a bit rough, but it should do.”

He had used heatstones to carve a little oval dinghy out of a bulge in the side of the iceberg. He had done a remarkable job as he’d said, and Tali knew he was a master boat builder, but she eyed the craft uneasily.

“How far have we got to go to shore?”

“Quarter of a mile.”

“Are you sure an ice dinghy will last that long?”

“In water this cold, it should last a week,” he said cheerily, though she detected a faint tone of unease in his voice.

“What’s holding it in place?”

“This beam of ice.” He pointed below the water. “Once I carve it off, we’re away. Jump in.”

Not knowing how thick the bottom was, she climbed in carefully and crouched down, shivering. Holm took a blanket-wrapped heatstone from his pack and unwrapped it. After passing her the packs, he lowered the heatstone into the water, towards the beam.

“Ahh! That’s cold.”

He held it below the water for a minute or two then, with a little twitch, the ice dinghy came free and was bobbing on the water. He wrapped the heatstone and handed it to Tali.

“Put that somewhere safe. We’re bound to need it later on.”

As Tali took it, pain sheared through her head from the top of her skull to her jawbone. She set the heatstone down and held her head with both hands. Holm took up a paddle carved from ice and began to paddle the dinghy on one side, then the other.

It was miserably cold. The little ice boat rocked with every movement and, once they were out of the shelter of the iceberg, every wave slopped water over the bow. Tali had to bail constantly with Holm’s pot. In a minute, her hands were numb.

“Can you bail a bit faster?” said Holm. “It’s rising up my boots.”

Tali bailed more furiously. “It doesn’t seem to be making any difference. How far do we have to go now?”

“Not far.” He rowed faster.

“Some master craftsman you are. The boat must have sprung a leak.”

“The bottom is six inches think, and I checked everything carefully.”

“You must have missed a crack.”

“I don’t miss things like that; not when our lives depend on them. Just as a matter of interest,” he said in an overly casual voice, “where did you put the heatstone?”

“On the floor —” She felt around for it and found the blanket it had been wrapped in, but the heatstone was gone and water was bubbling up from a slot in the bottom. She put her boot on it. “Ulp! Sorry. It gave me a dreadful headache and I wasn’t thinking straight. Must’ve knocked it out of the blanket with my foot.”

He shook his head. “For someone with a phobia about drowning, you’re awfully blasé about ice-boat safety.”

He paddled furiously and drove the ice boat onto a mud bank, just in time.

“We’ll have to travel light, and fast,” said Holm. “The price on your head will be big enough to corrupt even the most decent of people.”

Tali jumped out and sank calf-deep in black, stinking ooze, almost as cold as the ice.

“Should have warned you,” chuckled Holm, passing Tali her pack. “Keep to the sandbanks.” He indicated the paler, wavy lines, just visible in the moonlight, stretching into the distance.

“How long ’til dawn?”

“Three hours. And it’ll take half that time to cross the former sea bed to reach dry land. Can you go any faster?”

Tali did her best, but the fitness she’d had as a slave had gone with the blood stolen from her.

“Take off your boots,” said Holm when they reached the sandbank. “Dry them inside, as best you can. Put on dry socks, otherwise you could get frostbite.”

She did so. Two cold and exhausting hours passed before they reached the edge of the old sea bed and began to climb a sandy incline dotted with tussocks of coarse grass.

There were dunes after that, a series rising progressively to a hundred feet. Spiky bushes with narrow grey leaves formed scattered clumps along the low points between the dunes, but the ridges and crests were sandy. Tali and Holm left perfect tracks there. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, though it had no colour yet.

“Got to get off the sand,” said Holm. “We’re making it easy for your enemies to find us.”

Tali tried to reassure herself. “They’re just tracks in the dunes. They could belong to anyone.”

“An old man and a small, exhausted woman,” said Holm, looking down at their tracks. His were broad but slow, hers small and dragging. “Coming from the sea. Any fool could read that.”

“Where are we going?”

“Right now? Somewhere wild and empty.”

“Is it far away?”

“A couple of days’ walk, according to my map.”

“I’m not sure how far I can walk in a day.”

“Then push yourself. We don’t only have to worry about your enemies. Anyone who sees our tracks will read us as prey.”

“You’re a treat,” Tali said acidly. “When I’m down, you never fail to point out how much worse things are going to get.”

“Would you rather I put icing on it?”

They passed off the dunes into silent marshland with scattered, stunted trees between the mires, a cold and desolate land where every bog and pool had brown ice on it, and no birds sang. There was no sign of life, not even a beetle or a gnat.

“Why is the ice brown?” said Tali.

“I don’t know.”

“Volcanic ash?”

“Could be.”

Narrow paths wove through the marshlands, arched over by reeds. But at least the ground was beaten there, and if they trod carefully in the centre of the path they left only occasional smudged tracks.

“Any chance of breakfast?” said Tali. “My belly’s about to dry up and blow away.”

“Not until we find safe shelter.”

They reached the edge of the marshes, Holm five or six paces ahead. Beyond was a scrubby, barren land with no signs of habitation. It was fully light now, a watery, wintry sun striking through the rushes from the north-east and catching them in the eyes. Perhaps that was why, as they climbed a gentle rise, Holm did not see the horsemen until it was too late.

He was rubbing his eyes, looking right and left, when three riders burst out from between a clump of bushes and spurred towards him. Tali turned and skidded back down the slope, expecting Holm to follow, but he was slow to react, and when he did, he ran up the rise, not down.

“Not that way,” she whispered.

Knowing how capable he was, she wasn’t too worried at first. He’d outwitted every foe they’d met so far, and she felt sure he was capable of dealing with three ruffians. That was what she took them to be.

Only when Holm turned and ran sideways along the edge of the marshland did she realise what he was up to. He was leading them away in the hope that Tali, who had been well behind, had not been seen. He must have decided that they could not both escape, and was sacrificing himself for her.

The leading man, a big, red-whiskered fellow on a bony grey, leapt off his horse and ran down into the marshes to cut Holm off. The horse seemed glad to see its master go, for it whinnied, kicked up its heels and began to crop the coarse grass. Its mouth was torn from cruel use of the bit and there were bloody spur marks on its flanks.

Holm was darting and dodging, taking advantage of every bit of cover and the marshy ground where they dared not ride, though never going far into it. He could not, for the red-whiskered ruffian was always further out, blocking his escape, herding him back.

Tali lost sight of Holm behind a clump of rushes. She ran a few steps until she saw him again. He was plodding up a steeper slope, exhausted now. She lost him again and had to scurry back up to the point where they had first seen the riders.

When she finally located him, the other two riders were converging on him. One raised a cudgel and struck Holm down, then they dismounted and she saw clubs rising and falling. It looked like they were trying to beat him to death.

No time for thought. Tali ran up to the grey, gasping, and tried to haul herself into the saddle. It was a huge beast, at least seventeen hands, and the stirrups were so high that she could not get a foot into them.

Holm let out a terrible cry. She took hold of the harness. The horse turned its head and gave her a quizzical look. She stroked its flank.

“It’s all right. I’ll never hurt you like that whiskery bastard. Please, let me on.”

It stared at her. Tali reached higher, caught the strap below the saddle, dragged herself up and managed to get a boot into the stirrup. The horse did not move; it hardly seemed to notice her weight. She got a leg over and tried to slide into the saddle, but had to pull out of the stirrup first – her legs weren’t long enough.

The saddle was vast, barely holding her at all. Red-whiskers must have a backside the size of a warthog’s. She took hold of the reins, gave them a gentle shake and said, “Go.”

The horse gave her another quizzical look, but did not move.

“That way,” said Tali, pointing to where the three ruffians had taken Holm. Were they still beating him? Did they plan to kill him because she had escaped, or just for the fun of it? “Go, please.”

Nothing. She gave the horse a gentle nudge with her heels. Nothing.

Feeling exceedingly foolish, she reached out with her magery, gently and respectfully.
Please, run for me
.

The horse took off. Tali slid backwards in the saddle, then sideways. She grabbed desperately for the saddle horn, sure she was going to fall. She had been on a horse before, though for most of that time it had been with Tobry. No one would have called her an accomplished rider.

Even if she stayed on long enough to reach Holm, what was she to do?
Think
,
think
! Then something Tobry had once said about Rix popped into her mind. He had been talking about their plan to rescue her from Orlyk’s Cythonians, out in the Seethings.

With respect, Lord Rixium
, Tobry had quoted, smiling as he retold the story,
full gallop is the only plan you ever have. Subtle you are not.

Why not? The plan, if she could get the horse to cooperate, had the merit of speed and simplicity. Yes, she would go straight at them and pray that it would work. Though three ruffians against one small woman… No, don’t think of the problems or Holm will be dead. Do it!

She tugged gently on the reins, remembering the horse’s bloody mouth, and eased the animal around towards Holm’s attackers.
Sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you
. The men were only sixty yards away now and did not seem to have noticed her, for the horse’s hooves made little sound on the soft earth.

Go, my friend. Right at them. But look out for Holm, on the ground.
 

It accelerated so fast that she nearly slid off the back of the saddle. The horse leapt a bush, five feet in the air and fifteen at a stride.

One of the ruffians shouted, “Look out!” and scrambled to his feet.

But the great horse was travelling far faster than he could move. It crossed the last twenty yards in less than a second, hurtling towards the three ruffians, who were desperately trying to get out of its way.

They could not move fast enough. The horse’s right shoulder struck the red-whiskered ruffian on chest and chin, snapping his head backwards and hurling him ten feet into a thorn bush. Its chest knocked the second man off his feet and Tali heard something crack as he went under the hooves. She did not see what happened to the third fellow.

The horse slowed, turned, and its great eye was on her again, as if asking,
is that enough
?

“Can you go back, please? I can’t see Holm.”

Had he been trampled? Was that what that hideous crack had been? She rode back warily, watching the ruffians. Were they dead, injured or only shamming?

The fellow who had gone under the horse was dead. There was a hoof print in the middle of his chest and blood around his mouth and nose. The horse’s weight must have broken his ribs and stopped his heart.

The red-whiskered fellow was trying to free himself from the thorn bush, crying out with every jerk and twitch.

“You little bitch!” he said in a thick, pained voice. “Going to carve you into pieces.”