The Dreaming Hunt (49 page)

A heavily armored dwarf whose helm barely reached her shoulder emerged from the indistinct night in front of her, scowling. He bore a gigantic battle-axe in both hands and peered over it blearily at her, looking her up and down. “Ye look harmless enough. C'mon, then. Owain's house be on the far side o' the village.”

The dwarf turned, stumbled, righted himself, and moved away from her. She hurried after him lest she lose sight of him in the featureless gray night. A hulking form came into view off to her left, and she started. It resolved into a rude hut. But her guide passed it by without a glance.

Several more huts materialized and faded away before the dwarf veered right and stopped before a round, stone-walled cottage with a high-peaked thatched roof. “'Ere we be,” he announced.

He raised his fist to pound on the door, but she said quickly, “Let me. I'm a far sight less frightening than you showing up at their door in the middle of the night.”

Scowling, the dwarf stepped back. “'Ave it yer way.”

Using her left hand that was not glowing with magic, she lifted the hood off her head and knocked upon the sturdy oaken door. She called out softly, “Master Owain? Mistress? I'm a friend. I come bearing urgent news about your son.”

In a few seconds, she heard movement inside. Water dripped off the thatch onto her head and neck like icy needles piercing her skin. She shivered but did not raise her hood.

A male voice spoke from the other side of the panel, low and threatening. “Get thee gone. It is late.”

“I have news, sir. Of grave import to Dafydd.”

“What news?”

The door did not open nor did the latch lift. She sighed, wishing she did not have to shout her tidings nor do so in front of the nosy dwarf behind her. No help for it, though. “An Imperial hunter and hounds approach.”

She heard a feminine wail inside as the latch rattled and the door was thrown open. A disheveled, pale-haired man in breeches and a nightshirt stood there, wielding a wicked-looking scythe. He asked urgently, “How much time do we have?”

“It is not quite so dire as that. We have perhaps two days until they track your son here.”

“Huh. You've not seen those beasts once they've acquired a trail. They move twice as fast as normal creatures and go twice as long. They'll be here on the morrow at best. We must go now.”

The man moved away from the door, and she stepped inside cautiously. A thin, dark-skinned woman with a thick, black braid that hung nearly to her knees already moved around the tiny space, hastily throwing supplies into a leather bag. The man followed suit, stripping his nightclothes to don a shirt, sweater, and leather jerkin.

“Where did ye see the hounds, then?” he asked grimly as he awkwardly buckled his armor.

She moved over to his side, familiar with armor from having helped Regalo don ceremonial suits of it over the years. “Let me do that.” He lifted his arm, and she buckled the row of straps attaching chest piece and back piece to one another. “Turn,” she ordered, starting work on his other side.

The man shook his head. “There's no time to travel overland. We'll have to ask the terrakin for help.”

The woman stopped packing and stared at him. “We're not dwarves. They will not take us down the Shadow Kthole.”

He shrugged. “Mayhap they will if we ask properly.”

Gabrielle did not know this Shadow Kthole, although she recognized the old word for an underground river. Regardless, she did not think terrakin helped any but themselves. “I can take Dafydd far away from here where he will be safe.”

“Where?” the woman asked sharply.

“The Heartland. The Heart will protect your son from the hounds and keep him out of the Emperor's clutches.”

The man snorted. “No one can save the boy from the Empire.”

“If that should not prove a safe destination, I have a friend who can send us across the Abyssmal Sea.”

The man threw her a look both hopeful and skeptical. “Wake the boy, Ellyn,” he said over his shoulder to the woman.

The woman climbed a ladder and disappeared into the loft overhead. She emerged in a moment, followed by a dark-haired, dark-skinned boy of perhaps twelve summers.

This boy, the last known Child of Fate in Koth, had been taught to prophesy by his father, also a Child of Fate, from the Kingdom of Kufu, home of the Sands of Time. Dafydd's natural father had apparently died saving his son from the blast of the child's first vision. But the raw power of prophecy had filled Dafydd, who was said to be the greatest seer in generations as a result.

The boy was all messy clothes and awkward limbs, not yet coming into manhood, as he climbed down the ladder. But then he looked at her, and Gabrielle's breath caught. Those eyes. So wise, they stripped away all her layers of deception and laid her spirit bare.

“You've come to save me from the Emperor,” Dafydd announced.

“Aye. Just so,” she replied.

He stared at her quizzically for a moment. “Where is your crown?”

“I have no crown,” she blurted, taken aback.

He smiled slyly. “Not here, you don't.”

She smiled back at him ruefully. “Clever boy.”

“Your pendant. May I see it?”

She reached into the collar of her rough dress and pulled out the Octavium Pendant on its long chain. Its green gem caught the light of the single candle and flashed as if lit from within. The boy stepped close and reached out with a single finger to touch the glowing gem.

His voice took on a disturbing timbre, too deep and resonant for his age. “Never let this leave your person, lady in a crown, lest your castle tumble down around you, all revealed, all lost.” He shook his head a little and grinned up at her, a twelve-year-old urchin once more.

A tug upon her heart of missing her own two children made her breath catch. But she asked the boy jauntily enough, “Are you ready to have an adventure, Dafydd?”

“Aye.” He glanced over at the man. “Do we really get to ride the shadow river, Owain?”

“Dunno. You tell me. Will the terrakin say yes?”

The boy didn't hesitate. “Aye.”

Owain grunted. “Let's go, then.”

Gabrielle interjected, “I have a boat. Across the lake is a coach I have hired—”

Owain snorted. “Think ye we 'ave a seer in our home and don't have an escape of our own in place? Thanks be for the warning, but we'll be on our own way now.”

She frowned, unaccustomed to being openly gainsayed. “It is vital that Dafydd make his way with all due haste to the Heartland. I can guarantee his safety there. We
must
keep him out of the clutches of the Empire.”

Owain frowned back at her. “Look. If ye want to tag along wit' us, I suppose ye've earned the right by bringin' us word of the hounds.”

She followed the family outside, prepared to argue further. She fetched up short, though, surprised to see the drunken town guard still outside. Except now he was standing strong and straight, his stare as sharp as a sword.

“Mistress Gabby, I've sent your man and his boat back to the mainland with instructions for your coach to be on its way. We'll use it as a decoy, should the hunter be tracking you to get to the boy.”

Not a single syllable of the dwarf's words was slurred with drink. His eyes were clear and alert. “Who are you, sir?” she challenged.

“I, too, am a friend of the boy's. We have kept watch upon him ever since he came to this place.” She opened her mouth to ask for the dwarf's name, but he forestalled her, saying, “The sooner we get Dafydd out of here, the less his scent will linger. Let us go and quickly.”

Owain and Ellyn fell in behind the dwarf, whom they clearly knew and trusted. If she was to stay with the boy and personally protect him as she'd been ordered by the Eight to do, she had no choice but to follow along.

Their guide moved confidently toward what she judged to be the center of the island. He stepped up to a massive outcropping of black, wet rock the size of a house. He passed his hand over the stone, incanting something under his breath, and a crack appeared in the face of the rock.

The boy, Dafydd, ran his fingertips over the surface of the secret door and laughed in delight. “Oh, the hounds will be so frustrated. They will be maddened by my scent but will not be able to follow it into solid rock. Blood will flow as they dash themselves against this boulder.”

Shuddering at the image conjured by the boy's words, Gabrielle hurried into the tunnel beyond the secret door. They lit torches while their guide sealed the entrance and said something magical to hide it once more. A passageway descended sharply before them, presumably under the lake. They walked for what seemed like hours, but in the darkness, lit only by the flickering torches, she had no sense of time passing.

At length, the tunnel widened into a chamber, and the chamber widened into a great, hollow space that hardly felt underground. A faint glow filled the gigantic space, seeming to emanate from the distant ceiling and unseen walls. Some sort of mossy plant grew beneath their feet, and a smooth road wound away from them. A stone cottage was visible a little way ahead, complete with a fenced yard and a small garden of gently glowing plants. It was a weird copy of the surface village they'd left behind.

“What is this place?” she asked in wonder.

“Welcome to Under Urth, Mistress,” the dwarf commented ironically. “You will understand if I must swear you to silence on the location of yon entrance upon pain of death.”

“Of course,” she murmured, stunned at what appeared to be an actual village stretching away from them, at least as large as the one above.

They passed through the settlement and pulled up short at the bank of a fast-flowing stream, perhaps thirty feet across. They trod along its mossy shore until they came upon a widening in the river and a wooden dock protruding into the swift current. A dwarf dozed in a high-prow, sturdy-looking boat that could hold a dozen people.

Their little party, including the not-drunk guard, piled into the vessel as the helmsman cast off the lines and took his place at the tiller aft. No sooner had they taken seats upon low wooden benches affixed to the bottom of the craft than the boat shot forward, propelled at an alarming speed. Ellyn looked no more thrilled than Gabrielle to be flying along an underground river, but Owain and Dafydd whooped with joy and thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

They shot into a black tunnel so low that Gabrielle actually ducked as it closed in around them. The boat dipped precipitously and picked up even more speed. The torches were all but blown out and gave off only enough light to show seething rapids around them. They were going to die, dashed to pieces against the rocks bulging just below the fast-flowing water.

The boat dipped and bobbed like a cork, gathering even more speed. The dwarves seemed completely unconcerned, which was the only reason she did not panic entirely.

They burst out of the dark tunnel into a massive space that made the first chamber look like a mousehole by comparison. She could not even see a ceiling in the dim glow surrounding them. Their little tributary had joined a massive river running even faster than the first. She made out what looked like trees on the far bank of the black waters.

“Now's a good time for a nap,” the night watchman announced. “Once we put ashore, we'll have a long, hard journey before us.”

She stretched out on the hard planks of the vessel and pulled her cloak close around her.
What on Urth had she gotten herself into?

*   *   *

Will nudged Raina and Rosana, who were asleep on either side of him while Eben woke Sha'Li. Without moving from prone positions, everyone readied weapons, and Will detected a faint glow from beneath the healer's cloaks as they gathered magic.

“Here they come,” Will breathed. “Five of them.” The attackers must have concluded that having several females in their party and only three men made this a winnable fight. Of course, it was a dreadful mistake to underestimate any of the women in their party.

“We should talk to them,” Raina whispered.

“They're attacking us,” Will snapped. “We fight back.”

“Agreed,” Eben murmured.

“We fight,” Sha'Li chimed in.

“Raina's right,” Rynn disagreed.

“You're outvoted, Three Eyes,” Will ground out. “You said you would defend us with your life. So do it.”

Rynn sighed. “So be it.”

The creatures stalking them drew nearer, and Will focused all his attention on them, clearing his mind for the fight to come.

“I'll call our attack,” Rynn murmured. “Patience, everyone.”

The attackers moved slowly at first, approaching about halfway between the ridge and their little camp before charging. Will tensed, sure that Rynn would call the countercharge immediately. But the paxan did not. The attackers were spread about ten feet apart, coming in at slight angles. Not that flanking this party would help the assailants. Will and his friends had been through enough melees to know how to keep their backs to one another and their flanks covered.

An eternity passed as the five dark figures grew larger. Claws gleamed in all their fists. Some sort of animal changeling types, then.

Finally, Rynn shouted as he jumped to his feet all in a single explosive lunge, “Now!”

All six of them leaped up and ran forward as one in a defensive arc with Will and Eben in the center. Sha'Li had one end and Rynn the other, with the two mages hanging back slightly but within an arm's length of the others.

Will focused mainly on the two attackers directly in front of him. He raised his staff high over his head as if to take a great, cumbersome downward swing. But as he ducked under the first swing of vicious claws, he snapped the bottom tip of his staff forward lightning fast into the jaw of his attacker. The fellow howled. His hood fell back to reveal a furred face bearing a resemblance to some sort of badger-like creature.