Son of Avonar (65 page)

Certain that it was the sallow-faced man come to continue his loathsome caresses, I tried to scream, but a thin, cold hand clamped over my mouth. When my hands fell loose, I twisted around, grabbing and scratching the hands that kept such firm hold of me. All my anger and grief was channeled into that battle, but my cramped limbs had no strength, and my small and wiry captor seemed to have four hands. Soon I realized there were two of the bastards, one wrapping a bony arm about my throat and grasping a painful handful of my hair, the accomplice capturing my flailing hands and helping to drag me through the darkness and down a dark flight of steps.

“Would you stop?” The angry whisper hissed in my ear. “You're going to bring the whole place down on us! If you promise to be quiet, we'll let you go. Will you promise?” I nodded my head vigorously. But the attacker was no fool. I had barely opened my mouth to yell, when the hand smothered my mouth again, and the villain twisted one arm behind my back until I thought my shoulder would pop out of its socket. I was shoved through a stone passageway and into a room that smelled faintly of horses. A door fell shut behind me, and I spun about and backed away from it into the dark.

“Give us a light, boy,” said the person just in front of me—a woman, breathing rapidly. “She'd best see who's here before she sets up a holler.”

The darkness parted to reveal a yellowish light . . . a sputtering lantern with a dark cloth being pulled off it. A flushed Kellea leaned against the wall in front of me, casually brushed her disheveled hair from her face, and massaged the hand that I had bitten three times over. Paulo squatted by the lantern, grinning despite an angry scratch on one cheek. And slumped in the corner on a pile of ancient straw was a wan, smiling Graeme Rowan. His shirt dangled from one shoulder, and blood-soaked rags were tied about his middle.

I was without words.

“She was determined not to be helped,” said Kellea. “I thought I might have to stick her a bit to shut her up. A good thing the boy was with me.”

“But I thought—” I felt a thorough fool. “One of the men up there—You were all—”

“I think I'm altogether more cooperative when being rescued.” The girl ignored my stammering.

“Indeed you are,” said Rowan in a whisper. “The best thing I ever did.” He shifted his position uncomfortably, and Paulo scrambled to support his shoulders.

“They told me you were dead,” I said. Forcing aside the first tears I'd shed in a lifetime, I squeezed Kellea's small, hard hand, and then hurried across the room and ruffled a blushing Paulo's hair. Then I knelt beside Graeme Rowan and gripped his hand and pressed it to my brow, giddy with relief that the three were not illusions. “How did you get here?” I said. “What happened to you?”

“We were going to be dead, but she—”

“I'll tell the story, if you don't mind,” said Kellea, interrupting Rowan. “You'll never get yourself together again if you don't shut your mouth and be still. I can do only so much.”

Rowan smiled weakly, shrugged his shoulders, and began coughing. Paulo grabbed a waterskin and helped the sheriff to a drink.

“We felt them coming up behind us just at nightfall,” said the girl. “Wicked, creeping—I thought I had spiders in my head. The boy told us what the little man had said, and we stuck to the trees as much as we could. But the valley narrowed and the going was slow in the dark, so we decided to go up the side of the valley where the way was easier. Well,
I
decided. Graeme thought it was risky, but we climbed up. Straight into their arms. The boy was clever and ducked into the rocks before they noticed him, but I got myself royally captured. Graeme was a fool and tried to fight them off alone. Got himself skewered for his trouble. They believed he was dead, and I did, too,”—Kellea looked at Rowan with fire in her eyes—“but he was stubborn and prideful and refused to die as any sensible man would. Just before dawn, when the villain priests finally left off trying to crack my skull from the inside out, he and Paulo came rescuing. Graeme could scarcely sit his horse.”

Kellea twined the string ties of a palm-sized cloth bag about her fingers. “We couldn't go far with him so hurt, so we hid in the rocks. The devils were so anxious to find your prince that I thought we might be left alone. At first light I went off looking for herbs to dress Graeme's wound, but didn't I see them scouring the hillside for us. And so . . . There's a plant I know of—astemia. If you chew its roots, it slows the heart enough to simulate death. Wouldn't have thought of it, except I'd seen the plant while hunting the others I needed. So I made Graeme and the boy take the astemia, smeared Graeme's blood over us all, and then chewed some of it myself. By the time it wore off, the cursed priests were gone, and we were still alive.”

“And so you followed us here. You might better have gone another direction.”

“That man out there—that sheriff—he's the one that fired the shop and killed my grandmother. And Graeme told me he'd seen this Baglos talking to him just before the attack. Since you'd said he was bound to obey the Prince, Graeme figured the Prince must know of it. But seeing the sheriff coming after you with the priests, we decided that the little bastard was up to no good, and we'd best come warn you. I guess we were too late for that. Is the Prince dead?”

“Captive,” I said. “The Zhid are planning something for the morning.”

Rowan leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Sorry I'm not much help tonight,” he said, gasping. His halting breathing—holding every breath and releasing it only when he had no choice—hinted at the severity of his injury. “A few hours sleep, and Kellea will have me up. We'll get him free.”

Kellea crouched in front of the sheriff and slapped his cheek lightly—enough to force his eyes back open. “Don't you dare go to sleep until I give you more of this.” She took three or four small leaves from her little bag and crushed them in her fingers, telling Paulo to pour a sip of wine into a cup. She stirred the leaves into the wine and made Rowan drink it. He dozed off almost immediately.

“He's not doing well,” I said. Rowan's hands were cool and clammy.

“I told him he'd be no help to anybody if he was dead.” Kellea doused a rag with water and blotted Rowan's brow. “But he thought you might have need of us, and he'll not keep sensible where you're concerned. And he believes I have some stupid sentiment about saving my people.”

“Dassine said the consequences would be dreadful if we let the Bridge be destroyed. Do you think that's true?” I badly needed Kellea's help.

“I just want to get out of here and be left alone.” The girl stuffed the herb bag back into the pocket of her leather breeches. She nodded her head at Paulo, and the two of them carefully lowered Rowan to the straw. Paulo pushed a rolled-up cloak under the man's head.

“We've got to free him, Kellea. They're going to kill him. Even if you don't care about that, he might be able to help Rowan. I don't know what all his talents are, but he's a sorcerer who's growing more powerful by the day. We should—”

“I'll help you, no matter,” said the girl, standing up and adjusting her sword belt. “We've come this far and are like to get no farther if we're not smart about it. Pardon me if I don't trust our safety to you.”

“All right, then.” I climbed to my feet, weariness forgotten. “We'll need to take him some clothes, and whatever weapons we can get together. . . .”

We set out with three knives, two swords, and Rowan's black cloak. Kellea left her bag of herbs with Paulo and told him what to do if the sheriff woke in pain or fever. “I'll bet the Prince can fix him,” said the boy.

“We'll take care of him,” said Kellea, laying her own cloak over the sleeping man. “Douse the light now, until we're off.”

Once our eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Kellea and I slipped out of the storeroom and up the steps that led back to the cavern.

“Finding the Prince would be easier if I had something of his, you know,” Kellea whispered.

“If no one's taken it, I've got something. . . .” We crept through the dark colonnade until we encountered Baglos's body. The Dulcé's leather pack had been thrown on top of him. I rummaged inside. No one had bothered to retrieve D'Arnath's silver dagger.

I gave Kellea the weapon, chewing my lip as she worked her magic with it. When she handed the knife back to me and pointed toward the winding stair, I shoved it into my knife sheath, keeping Rowan's more ordinary knife in my hand. The Zhid had confiscated my own blade.

Kellea glided through the dark cavern and up the stairway. At each landing, she paused for a moment before continuing upward. I followed close. A faint steady light shone from one end of the third-level walkway. Quiet voices came from the nearby shadows. Kellea drew me toward the opposite end of the span, and we approached the light by skirting the cavern wall through the gallery. One man sat on the floor beside the lantern; two darker forms stood on either side of a closed door. We crept close and crouched in a shadowed doorway, a few rooms away from the men.

“. . . don't trust nobody won't show his face,” murmured a man with a gravelly voice.

“Orders is orders,” snapped a second. “We've been in stranger company.”

“Don't know when. This place gives me the cold sweats. Did you look at that priest, the one that does show his face? I thought I was a dead man when he looked at me—or maybe he was.”

“Me, too,” said a third voice, younger, jittery. The soft lantern glow outlined a youthful profile. “And I keep hearing things. Like voices, but nobody's there. When we come past that lake . . . all the birds. I never liked birds, specially ones you can't see. Did
you
see any birds, Dirk?”

“Just do your duty, both of you,” said the second man. “Mouth shut, eyes open, and opinions to yourself. I don't trust those animals downstairs any farther than I can spit.”

So these were the newcomers. Not Maceron's men.

“Who is this prisoner that's got everybody so wrought up?” asked the gravel-voiced man.

“It's not ours to know. His lordship says they've got him fair trussed. If we keep him tight, we'll be out of here tomorrow.”

Kellea pulled my ear to her mouth. “He's in the chamber just past these three. I'll get the bastards away. If you can't free him in a quarter of an hour, leave him be, and we'll think of something else.”

I squeezed her arm in acknowledgment, and she slipped away into the darkness. Whispers and murmurings floated through the air. I flattened myself into the niche. Moments later, a faint green light twirled and streaked through the air above the walkway.

“Cripes, what's that?” said the gravel-voiced man.

“Go check it out.”

Scarcely had the running footsteps disappeared along with the green light when a new voice rang out in the darkness. “Dirk! Downstairs at once! His lordship's orders.” The voice was male, but it was impossible to tell from what direction it came. I had underestimated Kellea's talents.

The leader spewed out curses. “You'll have to hold here, Rigo. Don't budge now. Anything happens to this prisoner, we're maggot fodder.” He hurried across the walkway and galloped unevenly down the stairs.

The edgy young soldier didn't have a chance. A handful of pebbles bounced across the gallery floor, then his shrouded lantern was snuffed out by a gust of wind.

“Who's there?” said the shaking voice. He sounded no older than Paulo.

A faint laugh, another shower of pebbles, then light footsteps tripped down the gallery. The young soldier hesitated only briefly before running after them.

The moment he was away, I jumped up and pushed open the heavy door. The walls of the barren chamber gleamed faintly of their own light. Against the far wall hung the Prince, his feet spread apart and fastened with the silver cord to bolts newly set into the stone. His hands were lashed to a wooden beam high above his head, leaving him to support his weight on the balls of his feet. The silver loop about his neck was tethered securely to another hook in the wall. He was very still, scarcely even breathing. Only a slight tremor in his legs hinted he was alive.

I could have sworn I heard someone say my name. But the rag was still in place about the Prince's mouth. “Stay quiet,” I whispered. “I've come to get you.” I freed his mouth, untied the blindfold, and slipped the loop at the end of his neck tether from its hook. While he was still blinking and swallowing, I bent to examine the bonds on his ankles.

Stifling a cough, he whispered hoarsely, “Don't you get tired of riding to my rescue?”

“We've come this far. If we can get you away, you'll have time to think about what you need to do here. You can come back when you're ready.” I could not look at his face. I told myself that I didn't want to shame him because of his nakedness, and that it was only fear of someone catching us that made my hands shake so wretchedly as I worked. But there was more. Enchantment was all about him, stronger than I'd ever felt before.

“Can I cut this cord?” I asked. The silver cord had bitten deep into his flesh, leaving oozing blisters and raw, ugly patches. His legs, stretched so awkwardly, were trembling with the strain of his position as he tried not to make things worse by moving.

“As long as it's an ordinary knife, not enchanted. I tried several ways to get loose, with sorcery and not, and wished I hadn't.”

It was nearly impossible to wedge Rowan's heavy blade under the bindings, and I knew the pain must be excruciating as I sawed away at the cord. “I'm sorry to hurt you.”