Seeds of Rebellion (21 page)

Within a tunnel branching out from the cavern, Jason saw turquoise light retreating. Using the rungs, Jason worked his way down the wall and across the floor to an overturned barrel chained to the ground. Grasping the chain, Jason surfaced inside the barrel, taking deep breaths. His breathing sounded noisy in the close space. The rich aroma of damp wood filled his nostrils.

Recalling Aram’s advice, Jason abandoned the air pocket before too long and continued along the rungs. As he advanced across the cavern floor toward the tunnel, a flurry of motion caused Jason to glance sideways at a flowing tangle of brown tentacles. Although the creature was moving away from Jason, he scrambled even faster from rung to rung.

When Jason entered the narrower tunnel, Aram remained too far ahead to see. Only the faint, bluer radiance of his seaweed hinted at his location. The cave wound left and right, up and down. Jason faithfully followed the rungs.

He came to another barrel, and rose, gasping, into the clammy pocket of air. A few mussels had latched to the insides of this barrel, as had some glossy yellow slime. Jason stayed longer in that barrel than he had in the previous one. He felt like part of a really low-budget deep-sea exploration.

Not far beyond the second barrel, the underwater cave forked. Grateful for the iron rungs showing him the way, Jason veered right. A pipefish longer than a broom hovered across his path. The tubular snout looked too narrow to inflict any damage, and Jason was mostly worried about reaching the next barrel, so he hastened toward the elongated fish. Like a striped pole with eyes, the fish darted at his wrist, stealing the glowing seaweed. Jason reached for it, but the fish arrowed away through the water, speeding off the way Jason had come.

The fish fled rapidly, depriving Jason of the seaweed’s greenish
radiance. Of course he would have the luck to cross paths with a daring fish that fed on the glowing kelp! Enough light reflected back from Aram to distinguish the rungs, but Jason knew he needed to hurry.

Coming around a curve in the tunnel, he reached the next barrel. Swimming up into it, he rose until he bumped his head against the top. The barrel was full of water! Without the seaweed on his wrist, the inside was quite dark.

Panicked, Jason thrust himself out of the barrel and clambered along the rungs. The tunnel darkened as Aram pulled farther ahead. Jason’s aching lungs began to clench for want of air. He focused on progressing from rung to rung at the maximum possible speed.

How far to the next air pocket? He had to stay calm and keep moving. If he proceeded swiftly, he might survive.

The tunnel bent gradually left, then back to the right. He ignored a school of small fish that briefly swarmed around him, glimmering in the dimness. The distant radiance from Aram’s turquoise seaweed grew fainter.

The tunnel angled upward, and Jason spied the outline of a barrel ahead. Lungs squeezing, he resisted the urge to inhale and struggled forward.

As his desperate hands grasped the chain below the barrel, a disturbing thought occurred to him. What if this barrel lacked air as well? An image came vividly, his lifeless body drifting through obscure submerged caverns, hungry fish picking at his doughy flesh.

Gasping desperately, Jason entered the air pocket. Eager gulps of air cycled through his lungs. There was no light, but he didn’t care. He breathed greedily until he began to wonder if he was hyperventilating. Fighting his instincts, Jason worked to slow his respiration, worried that if he didn’t, he might pass out when he held his breath again.

Ducking back into the water, Jason discovered that the cave was no longer much brighter than the barrel. He couldn’t make out the rungs, but proceeded by feel without too much difficulty. At least they were regularly spaced.

Jason realized that in the darkness, he might miss the next barrel. The barrels had been chained right next to the rungs, so he spread his legs wide to help ensure one of them would hit the next chain.

He progressed more slowly than before. Just as his breath was beginning to fail, a chain bumped his thigh. Jason followed the metal links into a barrel. The trapped air revived him.

When he left behind the reservoir of air, Jason found that the cave was brighter. As he advanced, the turquoise glow increased until he saw Aram returning for him. Jason waved for him to go back. Aram reversed his direction. Before long the big man swam up into another barrel. Jason entered it after he departed. Aram waited for Jason to come out, then led him to where the tunnel curved upward. Together they rose to emerge from a tidal pool on the floodplain. Cool fog obscured the moonlit night.

“I was worried,” Aram panted. “I couldn’t see your light. I feared the faulty barrel had overcome you.”

A roiling surge of salt water sloshed against them. Jason staggered. The rising tide had already overtaken this pool.

“It was a close call,” Jason admitted. “You should ask for a refund.”

“I felt a crack. The air must have leaked out. You lost your light?”

“A fish stole it.”

Aram blinked. “Hard to plan for everything. You all right?”

Water gushed around them, foaming over the tideland.

“I’m peachy. Let’s do it again.”

“We should hurry. The floodplain grows treacherous at night.”

They jogged diagonally across the tideland, simultaneously heading away from Ithilum and the ocean. The turbulent water occasionally surged as high as Jason’s waist and alternated between pushing and pulling. Once, Jason stepped inadvertently into a concealed tide well. Aram immediately hauled him up.

Before long they left the chaotic seawater behind.

“This fog is our best stroke of luck so far,” Aram said as they trotted over solid rock, sandals squelching, wet clothes flapping heavily. Already the fog had reduced visibility to less than twenty yards.

Past the outlying tidal pools the ground began to rise. The rocky plain gave way to a brushy hillside. Jason followed Aram up the long slope. Scrub oak became plentiful on the far side of the hill. Aram forced a winding path through the gnarled vegetation.

On occasion Aram paused, eyes closed, listening.

Beyond the hill, Aram rushed along a stream up a narrow ravine. Jason had to run at almost a full sprint to keep up. The exertion helped combat the chill of his wet clothes.

Veering away from the stream, Aram clambered up the wall of the ravine. At the top he lay prostrate for a moment, staring back the way they had come.

“You holding up?”

Panting and shivering, Jason nodded.

“I think we got away clean,” Aram whispered. Jason noticed that the big man was not winded. “We’re almost to the horses. A fellow called Chancy will be meeting us. He’s reliable, but with a lurker in the mix, we should stay ready for anything.”

Aram led the way over a rotting fence into an overgrown orchard. The fruit trees remained in orderly lines. Tall weeds and wild shrubs clogged the ground.

At the far side of the orchard, beside a splintery fence, Aram
knelt to examine an abandoned farmyard through the mist. Part of the old farmhouse had collapsed. A broken wheelbarrow lay in the middle of the yard, netted with cobwebs. Atop the decrepit barn an owl roosted, head swiveling in the misty moonlight.

“Almost too quiet,” Aram murmured. “Wait here.”

In a crouch, the big man dashed into the weedy yard. When he was halfway across, a figure bearing a sword emerged from the barn. Aram skidded to a stop. The figure waved for him to proceed. Aram hurried over and ducked into the decaying structure.

A moment later Aram reappeared, signaling for Jason to join him. Jason crossed the foggy yard, stumbling over a discarded plank hidden in the weeds before entering the barn.

Chancy stood off to one side, a nondescript man of medium height and build wearing a woolen hat with earflaps. He had sheathed his sword and now fidgeted with a short length of luminous seaweed. Aram had stripped off his shirt. His Herculean torso bulged gratuitously. Jason saw fresh clothes draped over a moldering stall, and began kicking off his sandals.

“The decoys you hired performed well,” Chancy whispered to Aram. “Having that little vessel steal away from the docks was a stroke of genius. It created quite a stir. I could see the commotion from well outside of town.”

“How are the roads?” Aram asked.

“Untreadable.”

“That bad?”

“I did some investigating. Many eyes watch the ways out of Ithilum. I’ve been jumping at shadows all evening. How’d you escape?”

Aram pulled on a long shirt scaled with iron rings. “Trade secret.”

“Wet as you are, wouldn’t be too hard to guess. Not that it’s
any of my concern.” Chancy shifted his attention to Jason. “How are you?”

“Alive.” He buttoned his dry trousers. “Thanks for bringing our gear.”

Chancy made an indifferent gesture. “When I get paid, I do my part.”

Aram hefted an enormous broadsword. From the tip of the blade to the end of the pommel, the weapon was almost as tall as Jason. The wide, double-edged blade looked heavy enough to chop down a tree. In the feeble cyan glow provided by the seaweed, Aram gazed lovingly at the weapon.

“That’s quite a sword,” Jason said.

Aram smiled in agreement. “I commissioned it from a master blacksmith. The hilt is inlaid with mother-of-pearl and embellished with diamond dust. The pommel is an opal from the isle of Teber. The blade weighs enough to wield it as a mace, but I keep it sharp enough to shave whiskers.” Aram swished the blade through the air a few times, swinging the heavy broadsword as though it were a yardstick. He sheathed it and then slung a baldric over one shoulder, so the sword hung across his broad back, then wrapped a hooded leather cloak around himself. The voluminous garment hung to his knees.

Chancy led a pair of horses from shadowed stalls. One was a tremendous brown stallion with a coarse mane and hairy fetlocks. Beside Aram, it seemed not much more than a pony. A smaller chestnut mare stood ready for Jason, his backpack attached to the saddle.

As Jason prepared to mount, Aram placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should also carry a sword.”

Jason hesitantly accepted a belt and scabbard. He began looping it over his shoulder as Aram had done.

Chancy smirked. “That one fits better around the waist.”

Chagrined, Jason fastened the belt the way Chancy had suggested. “I don’t know how to use a sword,” he admitted.

Aram folded his arms. “It isn’t too complicated. Insert the blade into the body of your enemy.”

“Makes sense.” Jason drew the sword. It felt good in his hand, heavy enough to inflict damage, but not cumbersome.

“You can hack your way in with the edge or stab with the tip. We can go over some finer points later. Don’t go trying to slice up any lurkers yet.”

“Okay.”

Aram patted Jason on the arm, motioning toward the horse.

Jason sheathed the sword. “Won’t the soldiers I face have a lot of training?”

Aram shrugged. “If you have to use that sword tonight, most likely we’re both finished. But it beats confronting your opponents unarmed. If it comes to it, I plan to go down fighting.”

Jason climbed onto his horse.

“Any parting advice?” Aram asked Chancy.

The man was leading his own piebald mount from a third stall. “Stay off the roads. The countryside looked clear to the southwest.”

“Hope so.” Aram flicked the reins, and his horse clomped forward over the dusty planks. Jason followed the big man into the gloomy yard, where a breeze stirred the fog.

“Whoa,” Aram exhaled, reining his mount to a halt.

Jason stopped alongside the larger man and followed his gaze.

Shrouded in swirling vapor, a dark featureless form stood motionless in the midst of the yard. Gasping, Jason clenched his jaw, squeezing the reins. Was it his imagination, or did his horse stiffen as well?

“Is that the lurker?” Aram whispered. He sounded reverent.

“Yeah.” Jason tried to relax.

“Stop fooling around,” Chancy chuckled softly, exiting the barn. “I wasn’t born yester—”

Jason looked over as Chancy pulled his horse to a stop, eyes widening in alarm.

The lurker raised one hand and extended the other in their direction.

The horse Jason rode stamped and whickered, tossing her head. Aram’s big mount reared. Chancy jerked the reins as his horse sidestepped.

“What now?” Aram asked, ignoring his restless steed.

Jason could not respond because his horse began to buck. He wrestled with the reins, gripping hopelessly with his knees as the horse curveted around the yard, rearing and plunging. After surviving a few wild ups and downs, the horse turned and bucked at the same time, catapulting Jason from the saddle. He landed upside down and continued into an awkward roll. Shielding his head, he scrambled away from the hoofs thudding nearby.

When Jason looked up, Aram stood between the stallion and the chestnut mare, holding both horses by the reins. The animals lurched and tugged, as if trying to rear, but Aram would not allow it.

Chancy lay spread-eagle on the far side of the barnyard, his horse no longer in view. The fallen man gaped at Jason in horror. Despite the agitated horses, Aram gazed his way as well.