Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) (56 page)

He smiled. `After all this time, you still do not trust me.”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

“Then I shall be forced to keep trying to win you. Will you accept a peace
offering?” He withdrew a small bag from his pocket, opened it, and pulled
out a slender choker. Tiny, threadlike swirls of silver arced delicately across
air and space, an exquisite net for the stone it held, which was a work of art
in itself. Dark at the center, almost brooding, it glowed with a sea-deep hue.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“It matches your eyes.” He smiled. “When I saw it this afternoon, I knew
I had to win it for you.”

“You won this?”

He nodded. “Here, let me put it on you.”

Laying the bag aside, he stepped toward her, then frowned. “Can I take
this off first?” He lifted the chain holding Philip’s staffid-warder. “I don’t
think they’ll go together very well.”

“Not very well, no,” she acceded. “Here.” Reaching up, she unfastened the
chain herself, then stood as he reached both hands around the back of her
neck. She felt his breath on her face and kept her eyes fixed on the potted
tree behind him. Little thrills spread down her arms and back as his fingers
worked in light flutters against her nape, and she was both relieved and disappointed when he stepped away, having done no more than put the choker
on her.

He looked at it, satisfaction in his gaze. “Very nice.”

She was struck with a sudden feeling of unease. Perhaps she should have
refused. Would he think now that her acceptance bespoke the interest he so
obviously hoped to cultivate?

A sudden shout echoed above, followed by heavy footfalls and a strange
clinking, then more shouts. In the dining room, now well above them, the
lights went out.

“What the plague?” Danarin ran for the stair. She hurried after him, confused, certain something awful had happened, not certain what. But midstair
he stopped dead, and she ran into him even as he whirled to head back for
the gate, pulling her after him. She said not a word, her heart hammering
against her ribs. The only thing she could think was that the soldiers watching
Fah’lon’s house had finally launched their raid and that if they were to find
her it could not end well.

Danarin yanked open the gate, iron hinges squealing frightfully, and they
raced down the narrow path that had been carved into the stone. Smooth,
sheer walls of sandstone hemmed them in closely. If they encountered any
soldiers coming up, there would be no place to go.

Danarin stopped again, and again she rebounded off of him. He didn’t
seem to notice, staring at the sandstone wall, one hand trailing up it thoughtfully. Then with a glance back the way they’d come, he began to climb the
gritty face. As soon as he was past her head she saw the hand- and footholes
carved into the rock. He scrambled over the top, then leaned down to offer
her a hand. She reached for the first handhole, realized she was still holding
Philip’s necklet, and hastily wound it several times around her sash before
shoving the stone between sash and waist. Then she felt again for the hole
and started up.

In moments he was pulling her over the rounded rock and into a small
stone structure that seemed to be a covered cistern. They huddled breathlessly just inside the doorway, Carissa struggling to hear past her labored
breathing.

“Stay here,” Danarin whispered. He crawled back to the edge on his belly
and peered down at the pathway they had just left.

She heard the footfalls first, then the voices and loud panting of the men
who had come down through the garden. The footfalls stopped just at the
place where they had climbed up the rock to the shack. She heard a quiet
argument, a scuffle. A curse. A red light flared off the stone, and a chill shivered through her. For a long moment no one spoke. Then a sharp word
echoed off the stone and they were moving again, some hurrying down the
path, others climbing back up to the terraces.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and shortly Danarin drew back to join
her in the shack. Groups of men ran up and down the path several times. She
heard more shouts, more clinks, the distressed cries of the servants they’d found. Did they have Cooper? Philip and the others? The thought made her
ill. How would she ever get them back? Fah’lon had said if Beltha’adi raided
his house and turned up nothing it could be very embarrassing for him politically, so perhaps he would be in a position to bargain. Perhaps Fah’lon would
help. Perhaps …

But all she could think about was how much Philip looked like his
brother, the infamous Infidel.

It felt as if they crouched there forever. Her bent legs went to sleep, and
she even grew inured to having Danarin pressed against her side. Soldiers
continued to run up and down the stair, flares of torchlight flickering off the
rocks and fading. Once she heard someone yelling angrily, but the words were
indistinct.

At last the sounds faded and darkness settled in, unbroken by any more
passing torches. The silence had stretched on for some time when Danarin
decided they could leave.

The delivery area at the bottom of the path smelled of animals and garbage, and was littered with barrels and refuse. It lay dark and silent, as did the
villa above it. Keeping to the deepest shadows at the base of the rocks, they
stole along the yard’s edge to the unpaved cart road leading down and around
the slope past the neighboring villa. Carissa was just starting to relax when a
roll of gravel and the scuff of a boot preceded the advent of two dark figures
looming up in the shadows around them. She squeaked in alarm as steel
glinted in Danarin’s hand.

“Easy, friend,” came a familiar voice.

“Cooper?” Carissa whispered. Relief made her weak. She turned to the
other figure. “Philip? Where are Eber and Peri?”

“Soldiers have them,” Cooper said.

“I’d think they’d have you, too,” Danarin said in a low voice. “That was
you we heard up there when they first came in, wasn’t it?”

“I wanted to warn you without drawing their attention to you,” Cooper
said. “Tried to draw them off a bit, but then I had to fight. They didn’t expect
that, so I got away. The others were down in the servants’ sector and were
caught by the men who came through the back door.” He paused. “Even so,
they didn’t get very many.”

“Well, that’s good,” Carissa said.

`No. I mean, I think some of the servants knew it was going to happen because most of them had already left. Around the time Fah’lon did, I think.”

“How do you know he left?”

“I overheard the soldiers talking. They didn’t get him.”

“It was a setup?” Danarin cried softly, clearly annoyed. “I thought he was
being helpful and friendly, and all the while he just wanted some bait for his
trap.” He muttered a curse under his breath.

“What trap?” Carissa asked.

“Remember what Fah’lon said about Beltha’adi wanting to catch him
with the Pretender but having to be careful of the political ramifications? I
think the Pretender was here tonight, most likely around the time Fah’lon
left us. He probably led the soldiers here deliberately and then the two of
them vanished, leaving only us for them to find and arrest when they
invaded. I was supposed to howl my outrage and Beltha’adi was to be embarrassed again. Only we got away. Serves him right, I think.”

Philip, it turned out, had escaped because he’d been out walking Newbold, embarrassed after the dog’s outburst. He figured the soldiers had seen
him but ignored him, since he wasn’t who they were after. He paused at the
end of his tale. “Did you say the White Pretender was here? Tonight?”

“I think there’s a good chance of it,” Danarin said.

“I never saw anyone,” Cooper said. “Just the servant, and then Fah’lon
hurrying away with him.”

“So what do we do now?” Carissa asked.

Danarin sighed. “Find a place to hide, I think. Then I’ll take a walk around
and see what I can learn.”

They continued down the cart path, moving quietly, fearful a guard might
remain to surprise them. The neighboring villa loomed past the rocks below
them, outer oil lamps casting warm salmon-colored pools in the darkness.

They had just left it comfortably behind when Newbold let out another
of his spine-tingling bays and lunged at the end of the leash, dragging Philip
behind him.

“He does that again and I’ll cut his throat myself,” Cooper growled.

The boy tugged on the leash, trying to haul him back, but the animal
seemed to have his nose glued to the ground. His tail flipped back and forth
frantically, and as he loosed another bay, Philip dropped to his knees and
clamped both hands round the dog’s muzzle to prevent further outbursts. But even with his mouth shut the hound hooted and yelped, more excited than
Carissa had ever seen him.

“It’s that cursed cat again,” Cooper said.

“No.” Philip faced them, a dark silhouette against the paler rock. “He
doesn’t chase cats. And he knows what we’re after.”

“He doesn’t chase cats?” Carissa repeated.

`And there’s a path here, you see?” Danarin said, pointing to a channel in
the rock. “Heads straight up to the villa from the look of it. Someone coming
down would have come right through here.”

And if the Pretender were here,” Philip said, “my brother could have
been with him.”

“Well, that’s not our concern?” Cooper hissed. “We aren’t here to rescue
him anymore, remember? And the last thing the lady needs is to get tangled
up in some Dorsaddi uprising.”

“If my brother is this close, Master Cooper,” Philip said solemnly, “I’m
going to find him.”

“More like draw his enemies down upon him.”

“They’ve all left, sir. If they hadn’t, they’d be on us now.”

“It’s a fool’s errand, boy.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going.”

“So am I,” Carissa said firmly.

Cooper whirled to face her. “What?”

“If Captain Meridon is this close, I think it’s worth trying to see him. I’d
like to talk to him myself. He must know how Abramm died.”

“This is madness? You don’t even know for sure it is Meridon. And if it is,
he’s in neck-deep with the rebels, who aren’t exactly friendly right now. If
Beltha’adi’s soldiers don’t get you, the Dorsaddi surely will. You can’t go. I
forbid it.”

“You are not in charge of this expedition, Master Cooper,” Carissa said
coldly.

“My lady, I will not let you do this.”

“You have no choice in it, sir.”

“Yes, Carissa, I do.”

As the meaning of his words sank in, she stared up at him in shock.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir,” Danarin murmured, edging between
them. “If the lady wishes to look for the Terstan, then she shall do so.”

Tension crackled around them, and for a moment Carissa thought they
would fight. In the end, Cooper backed down. As you wish, my lady,” he
said tightly.

Carissa gestured at the dog. “Let him go, Philip. We’ll see where he leads
us. Just keep him quiet.”

As the northernmost of the Dorsaddi cities and gateway to the SaHal and
lands beyond, Jarnek had once been a large and prosperous trading center.
With the destruction of Hur and the enslavement of the Dorsaddi, it might
have faded into obscurity except that Beltha’adi had decided to transform the
existing temple of Sheleft’Ai to one honoring Khrell. That, plus the presence
of numerous hot springs and baths, had kept the city alive.

But though new buildings of brick, sandstone, and even imported marble
had arisen from the floor of the wide arriza at what was once its mouth, most
of Jarnek still lay within the maze of narrow canyons south of that. The
amphitheater, the treasury, the chieftain’s palace, and the temple, all were
carved from the sheer red-and-ochre rock walls, as were businesses, houses,
storage chambers … and tombs.

Newbold had led them around the face of the terraced slope on which
Fah’lon’s villa perched, then down into the arriza, where the three dry wadis
converged and the soldiers camped. Thankfully, they’d stayed well to the
outer margins of that area, finally turning into one of the many canyons
emptying into it.

Even in the dark they could feel the change, could feel the cold silence of
the dead. The tombs at the canyon’s mouth were large and well spaced, with
elaborate facades carved from the rock-porticos, columns, narrow jutting
roofs-and all were barred by locked iron gates. These eventually gave way
to less ostentatious memorials and finally to mere holes in the walls. There
were hundreds of these, at ground level and above, honeycombing the cliffs in ranks of dark, empty eyes. The stench of death wrapped them like a mantle, and the silence was crushing.

The dog snuffled back and forth, tail wagging, nose to the ground, dragging Philip behind him. He had stopped trying to bay some time ago-but
that was a mixed blessing. If it meant they were not so likely to draw
unwanted attention, it also meant the trail was starting to go cold.