Raven's Ladder (20 page)

We should run
, thought Margi.
I’ve heard that Northchildren tear people up, eat their insides, and then drag the bodies over the Forbidding Wall.

Why would anybody build a fire indoors on a hot summer day?
asked Madi.

Margi’s answer was assured.
To roast the people they’ve captured
.

They’re roasting Wynn
, thought Luci. She broke free and began hurrying up the slope, quiet as an owl taking flight.

Margi padded after her on all fours, her feline tail swinging behind her.

Madi hissed in outrage, then slumped down to the ground.
I’m not going. Sheepskulls, both of you. I’m the oldest. I know best
. She unbound one of her sturdy toughweed slippers and flexed her foot, pressing all around the knobs of her ankles to see if anything felt wrong.

Voices
, came Luci’s clear and anxious thought.
Voices in the house. They’re telling stories, I think
.

What’s that language?
asked Margi, suspicious.
It’s not Common. It’s beautiful
, thought Luci.
Look. There’s no fire. It’s the Northchildren. They glow
. Madi could no longer see her sisters. They had gone around behind the shack. Taking a stone the size of a bread loaf, she softened it with stone-mastery
and drew out handfuls, which she released so that they hardened into smaller stones—perfect for throwing in case anything approached her.

I should aim one at Luci’s head
, she muttered.
Knock her wits back to where they belong. Luci, if you climb that stair, they’ll hear you!
said Margi.
Margi, come and see! They’re reading to each other from scrolls written in fiery script
. And then…

Their lights have gone out! They’re hiding from us! Luci, what are you doing?

Madi looked up. The magic drained from her hands. She sat still as a suspended breath.

Luminous apparitions tiptoed in a line down the slope just ahead as if they were anxious to slip away, alarmed at having been discovered. They were tall and elegant like kings and queens, features veiled by shimmering shrouds. Some of them paused to glance in her direction. Then they moved on through the narrowing gully into the deep woods’ shadows.

The sound of distant water came to Madi from the dense trees ahead. When it did, an urgent thirst brought her to her feet.

What a strange cabin
, came Margi’s thought.
They sat together, in a circle
.

Madi limped along the path, slowly at first. But as she came to a place where the trees had descended the slopes and now embraced each other in the soft earth of the creek bed, she lost sight of the last shining phantom.

She stepped into the trees.

Madi, are you coming up?

I cannot climb
, she answered back. She tried to stop thinking about the apparitions. If her sisters sensed what she had seen or what she was doing, they’d come charging down the slope, and she would never find the North-children.

She pushed through thick ferns, trying to focus. It was colder here. The sound was louder now, and she was almost certain she could smell a creek.

A circle of light appeared, a glow from within a ring of stones.
A well
, she thought.

The light began to fade.

They’ve gone into the well
.

What’s that?
came Luci’s eager inquiry.
You’ve found them? They have a well?

If it hadn’t been for small, twinkling blue flowers coiling from between the wellstones on green stems, Madi might have passed right by this place.
I’m thirsty
, she thought.

Horses?
came Margi’s urgent question.
Luci, do you hear horses?

Is Tabor Jan coming after us? Are we in trouble?

They told us not to stray out of sight!

The horses are coming from the other direction
.

Luci! Hide! They’re not from Abascar!

Madi? Where are you, Madi?

Madi couldn’t move. She could see the riders now in the dark trees up the western slope.

Luci, get in this closet! Quick!

They’re on the stairs! Margi, they’re coming inside!

A storm of turmoil—her sisters’ panic and dismay—filled Madi’s head. They’d been discovered. They’d been seized by strangers, who were dragging them from the house.

Run!
came the urgent, harmonious message.

A man on horseback wandered down through the trees toward the well.

Madi leaned her head over the open mouth of the well, her rabbit ears flopping in front of her. She found a rope bound there to an iron ring. Far, far below she saw faint flickers of light, like candles in a heavy wind, and she heard water rushing as powerfully as a river.

“You there!” The shout was harsh and commanding as hoofbeats quickened through the trees.

Madi climbed onto the stones and sat with her feet dangling inside, then pushed off, grabbing hold of the rope and trying to let herself down. But the rope was damp and slippery. It began to slide through her hands. Looking up, she saw a torch over the well’s mouth, and then her pursuer leaned in to reach for her. She quit fighting the rope and let herself slide farther down, trying to evade his reach.

But the rope had been severed, and its frayed end passed through her hands. She fell.

“Madilyn!” Luci cried out as the soldier carrying her mounted his horse.
I can’t feel her!
Margi’s thoughts were shouts.

Dizzy and sick, the girls leaned forward, holding the horses’ manes with their left hands, clutching at their hearts with their right. The horses, the shouts of the men in their bristling vests, and the barbed throwing spears in the riders’ hands were all so alarming that the two girls had no time to make sense of it before the riders joined a large troop riding in a circle around the perimeter of the Abascar camp.

The sisters saw the people crowding in together, shouting in a defiant hubbub. Abascar’s archers were down on their knees, arrows notched to bows and trained upon the moving circle.

Then a massive rider in a sweeping cape and wooden mask dragged both girls from their horses and pushed them into a run, advancing swiftly behind them.

As Luci and Margi were welcomed into the crowd, the man behind them roared, “People of Abascar, put away your fears.” It was a boastful and commanding voice, sharp as a sneer. “You look as if you’re being attacked. In truth, we’re carrying heavy arms to defend you. We’re your saviors.”

Tabor Jan stepped from the crowd, sword unsheathed. “We summoned no rescuers. Leave us. This forest is not the property of any house.”

“Things change,” snapped the voice behind the mask. “Everyone knows that the house of King Cal-marcus fell to pieces. Surely we can’t leave the forest to the beastmen. And the philosophers of Jenta? They hide in the desert. The forest is not their concern.” He spread his arms as if presenting the whole world to the travelers. “House Bel Amica accepts what the Expanse has offered them. We’re expanding our territories.” He advanced toward Tabor Jan. “We’ll show patience with ignorant trespassers. But, yes, you do need permission to pass through this—”

“House Abascar survives,” said Tabor Jan. “We have not entered into any bargain with Bel Amica about changing borders. We move through open country on the orders of our king.”

“Your king?” The challenger looked about. “Should I not speak with him?”

After an uncomfortable hush, Tabor Jan said, “King Cal-raven has gone on ahead.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has. Until he returns—and let’s pretend, for a moment, that he will—let me treat you as guests and escort you to House Bel Amica for shelter, hot meals, and soft beds.”

An elated cry burst from someone in the Abascar assembly.

“Ah.” He pointed to his wide-eyed audience. “Perhaps some of you have some sense after all. While you rest, Queen Thesera’s advisors will offer just the guidance you need to determine Abascar’s future.”

“We are not interested in listening to the Seers,” Tabor Jan seethed. “Nor will we take one step toward House Bel Amica unless our king directs us to do so. His party will return shortly.”

“His party? Would they by any chance resemble these?” The challenger snapped his fingers.

The circle broke, allowing four more riders through. Before each one of them was seated a bound and bag-hooded figure.

“A few nights ago,” said the man, “these trespassers slept in the Bel Amican way station at Mawrnash under false pretenses. They informed us that they had broken away from Abascar and had no intention of returning.”

Shanyn emerged from the crowd, panic in her face, but Tabor Jan waved her back.

The man, whose stature resembled that of a powerful beastman, strode to one of the riders, reached up, and seized the bag over a prisoner’s head. It came free, revealing a bruised, bloodied face.

Jes-hawk!
thought Margi.

“I’m told there was a fifth member of their party,” the challenger mused. “They claim he is out there on his own.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue and then withdrew his mask. A wild, ragged mane, striped white and black, fell about his shoulders, framing a face patched with white bandages that concealed all but his flaring red eyes and his bearded jaw. “It’s possible your king has been abducted by mercenaries or killed by the Cent Regus.

Perhaps something surprised him. Have you heard of the menace that lurks in the ground?”

Blinking through the swollen bruises, Jes-hawk looked around, amazed. Then his face contorted with rage. He looked back to the circle of riders. “Where’s Lynna?” he roared, blood and spittle spewing from his lips. “Where’s my sister? Let me see that wretched traitor so I can—”

The giant knocked him to the ground as easily as a bear cuffing his prey. Jes-hawk lay silent in the dirt. Shanyn started forward again, but Tabor Jan seized her and held her back.

The challenger bowed. “Forgive me. I’ve forgotten my manners. I am Captain Ryllion.” And with the same hand that had struck down Jes-hawk, he reached out and clasped Tabor Jan’s hand.

Margi could see Abascar’s captain wince at the force of that grip. “Soon you and your people will forget all about the troubles of the past.” Ryllion grinned, and both sisters felt a chill at the sight of those beastly yellow teeth. “And eventually you’ll agree,” he said, “that this was a great day for Abascar.”

A
nd that’s what happens!” Snyde barked, spinning the vawn on its heels so he could address any vengeful pursuers. “That’s what happens when you try to put down Snyde ker Bayrast!”

He was riding back to Barnashum. He had considered taking his chances in Bel Amica, but the thought of starting over—unknown, without leverage or authority—changed his mind. Some of Abascar’s survivors still valued the words of King Cal-marcus’s aging ambassadors. He might reassemble his sympathizers there. So after stealing back his vawn from the Abascar company at Mawrnash, he had taken to the woods.

For a few days he saw nothing more interesting than trees and passing rainstorms. Nevertheless, he sensed someone—or something—following him.

He tried to cheer himself by remembering Cal-raven’s startlement and the blow that had struck him down. Now, with the king out of the way, Snyde could make House Abascar listen to him again. He had followed King Cal-marcus’s instructions with excruciating attention for so many years. That was how he had been taught, this son of the famous Bayrast ker Boon. He could bring back the old law and sweep the filth—all those Gatherers and insubordinates—out of his sight.

After Cal-raven’s company had abandoned him in the forest, Snyde had staggered southward, fearful of Cent Regus savages. To his surprise, when an ambush came, his attackers weren’t beastmen but bandits. Finding no currency, the robbers threatened to leave him there, bound, unless he told them something useful.

Whole and beautiful, the idea had bloomed. He’d told his assailants he
could show them a soldier carrying treasure from a fallen house. They’d find a fancy farglass and a sword of the finest Abascar craftsmanship. He also promised them money but refused to tell them he had concealed it in his vawn’s saddlebag for safekeeping.

The bandits agreed to follow him with a promise of punishment if his claim proved false. He convinced them that their target was dangerous. “Kill him first, then take what he can give you. He’ll track you down if he survives.” They boasted that their crimes were precise and clean.

Snyde liked that turn of phrase. Cleanliness was important to him.

“I have to get back indoors,” he now told the vawn after a tailtwitcher scolded them from a nearby tree. “Away from all this disorderly nature.”

As if it had heard him, a structure revealed itself through the gloaming—a hunter’s hut like the kind that had once sheltered him and his father during hunts. This was not House Abascar’s territory, nor did it belong to House Bel Amica, but the houses had negotiated some shared shelters in the neutral ground of unclaimed wilderness. This was one of those crude wooden boxes, long neglected.