The Dreamtrails (28 page)

I walked through the trees toward the back of the cloister, passing under long glassless windows set into the cloister wall at intervals. These gave me the discomforting feeling of being watched, and my unease grew until suddenly I realized what was causing it. Despite the sun having risen, I could hear neither bird nor insect. The profound silence inside the cloister wall reminded me of the deadly Silent Vale.

Reaching the back of the cloister, I saw more fruit trees growing here, and behind them, against the wall, rose several high mounds of earth and the tools that Zarak had mentioned, resting against a small stone shed. Going closer, I saw that the mounds had a hard crust, which meant they had been exposed to the weather for some time. They were the same dark choca hue as the earth showing through the wet grass;
but there was enough earth to fill a great pit and no sign of a digging site.

The most likely place to bury something dangerous would be in the cells, which traditionally had earthen floors. If I was right about farm holders being held here before they were given to the Herders, Malik could have used them to dig in secret, for once locked in, they would have required no guards. The armsman killed might have stumbled onto knowledge of what was happening by overhearing a prisoner, for armsmen would have been required to escort them to the coast. Perhaps under the floor of every cell I would find that a crate of weapons had been buried, or barrels of the explosive black powder that had so frightened Vos and his men. If so, the number of crates might indicate the size of the invading force.

The rear door of the cloister was a great oaken slab that was firmly closed and would not budge, so I returned to the front of the cloister, where the door, like the gate, had been wrenched off its hinges and lay splintered and graying on the cobbles. The sun was now high enough that it cast a dull brightness inside the stone-flagged entrance hall, which was covered in a dense litter of leaves and dust. Three doors led out of the hall, and a set of steps went up to the left. Two of the doors led to passages that ran toward the back of the building, and one led to a room on the right, partly visible through a half-opened door.

Half an hour later, I had walked through numerous chambers, around the kitchen, and along all the subterranean passages, but none of the rooms or cells was occupied. Nor had I found any evidence of digging in the cells, the passages, or their walls. As I stepped out into the sunlight, I thought of the tools left leaning against the stone shed.

In minutes, I was standing in front of the shed, holding the heavy metal lock that fastened the door. It was hard to form a probe dense and delicate enough to manipulate the lock workings this close to the tainted wall, but at last I heard the telltale click.

I opened the door and stared, even though I had been expecting something of the sort. There was no floor in the shed, save for a rim of earth around the walls. The rest was a great gaping hole and a ramp of earth descending into darkness. A tunnel!

There was a row of lanterns and a tinderbox on the earth ledge, and I selected one, checked the oil reservoir, and lit the wick, before venturing into darkness. I pictured a chamber at the end of it, full of crates of weapons and barrels of black powder, but ten minutes later, I was still walking, the sloping earth ramp and earthen walls having given way to a natural passage through the region’s soft rock that must have once been a subterranean watercourse. Aware that such a passage could go on for miles, I wondered if this was an escape tunnel of the sort the Faction had often built to allow secret movement in and out of cloisters. Judging from the packed-earth floor, much of what had been dug out of the tunnel had been used to fill the bottom of the rift and create a flat base.

Another fifteen minutes and I was regretting that I had not told Gahltha what I intended to do. But having come so far, I could not bring myself to turn back.

Another fifteen minutes passed, or so I judged it, and the tunnel still led downward. I could no longer believe this was merely an escape tunnel, for it would have surfaced long before now. I wondered if Wenda had arrived at the cloister yet. If so, she would come looking for me, but it would take time to find the tunnel entrance. When she did, I hoped that she
would wait for me with Gahltha or even return to the homestead to tell Linnet and the others about the tunnel. Very soon I would have to turn back, whether or not I wished it, for the lantern’s oil reservoir was nearly empty. If only I had thought to take two lanterns. But who could have guessed at the tunnel’s length?

Suddenly, the flame in the lantern was snuffed out, and I was plunged into darkness.

I knew I ought to turn back, but the draft of air that had blown out the flame suggested I might not be far from a shaft leading to the surface. If there were steps, I could get out that way and farseek both Linnet and Gahltha.

I set the lantern to the side and went on cautiously, hands outstretched to keep from running into anything. Then, in the stillness, I heard a voice. I held my breath and listened hard, but I had not been mistaken. Someone was talking, and if there was a speaker, there must be at least one person listening. Was it possible there were Herders here already?

I hesitated but could not resist going on, for I wanted to hear what was being said and get some idea of how many Herders there were. If I was truly fortunate, they would not be banded, and I could learn everything we needed to know from them. I walked very carefully now, anxious that I might alert the speakers to my approach. Even so, I stumbled several times, because the ramped earth that had leveled the tunnel higher up had given way to undulating stone.

Finally, I stopped to remove my boots and tuck them under my arm, knowing that I could move more stealthily without them. I was very aware, too, that the speakers might suddenly decide to come along the tunnel. In that case, I would have no choice but to fly back to the cloister like a fox with hounds on its tail.

The flow of air grew stronger, and there was a tantalizingly familiar scent in it. The air smelled of the sea!

My mind raced, for though by my reckoning I had been moving constantly in the direction of the coast, I did not think I could have reached the cliffs. Then a thought struck me. At several places along this part of the coast, narrow inlets opened up and the sea flowed in. What if this tunnel opened into one of them? It was an intriguing idea, but even if a shipmaster could maneuver his vessel along such a narrow channel at high tide and manage to disgorge Herder warriors in a tunnel opening, how would the ship turn to leave?

I was so intent on my thoughts that I tripped and fell sideways, stifling a cry and throwing out my hands, but there was nothing to catch ahold of. I landed with a sickening crunch.

I
OPENED MY
eyes to pitchy blackness. Both hands were pressed against my body, and when I tried to move, pain lanced through my head. At first I thought I had been captured and tied up, but there were no bindings about my wrists or body. I could not move because there was stone all about me. Swallowing hard, I told myself I must have fallen sideways into a crevice running off from the tunnel, and now I was wedged there. I felt about with my fingers and toes and butted my head gently forward, trying to get an idea of the space into which I had fallen, but to my dismay, the movement caused me to slip farther down into the crack.

Suppressing panic, I lay completely still, willing myself to calmness. I felt extraordinarily weary, which meant that my body had been draining my energy to repair whatever damage I had done in the fall.

Ruthlessly, I quashed fear and imagination and commanded myself to think, for only I could get myself out of the predicament into which I had literally fallen. Using my fingertips and toes, I began very slowly and carefully to ease myself back up the crack. Only because I had fallen sideways into the cleft instead of headfirst did I notice the play of light against the stone as I inched myself upward. I froze and saw that the light was growing stronger, which could only mean that someone was coming along the tunnel with a lantern.

I kept my eyes fixed on the crack, for if it was Wenda, I would have only one chance to call out softly and stop her from blundering into whatever lay at the end of the tunnel. Then I became aware of the thud of feet; not just the feet of one person, but of many people marching in time. Surely that could mean only one thing:
The invasion was under way!

At least I am not a captive
, I told myself, fighting a wave of despair. Once the marchers had passed, I would have to go in the opposite direction to warn the others. But what of Wenda?

The light grew brighter, and now I could feel the vibration of the marchers’ boots through the stone. Soon they were passing the opening: an endless line of grim-faced, shaven-headed Herders in dark gray robes moving up the tunnel toward the cloister. Save for the color of their attire, they looked no different from any other Herders, except they were more powerful-looking, and I seemed to feel their relentless purpose. These must be the warrior priests Noviny had described. No wonder Malik had looked at me in triumph. He had known that the invasion force was on the verge of arriving.

I willed the column to end so I could renew my efforts to escape the crack, praying that Wenda would hear the thud of the Herders’ feet if she was coming along the tunnel.

By the time the last warrior had passed, my whole body ached with tension, but I did not move until the light had faded completely, and even then I lay for a time listening.

Finally, I gathered my courage and strength and began moving myself carefully back up the crevice. Once I managed to get one arm free, it was easier, though I muttered a curse at the realization that I must have dropped my boots into the crack when I fell.

Back in the tunnel I took a deep breath, considered a
moment, and then set off in the same direction as before, for I reasoned that I would sooner or later reach the tunnel’s end. The only trouble was that the tunnel was still angling down.

After a time, I heard someone speak again and froze. He sounded quite near, and a faint light showed ahead. These things and the draft suggested I was right about the tunnel ending in steps or a shaft that led to the surface. Elated to think I might be able to escape the tunnel in time to warn the others, for the marchers could not possible have reached the cloister yet, I hastened my steps.

Suddenly, the tunnel curved into a large cavern. I stopped dead, unable to see into the cavern properly because of the angle at which the tunnel entered it. There were chinks of fire or lantern light high up, and I decided to climb the inner wall that separated the end of the tunnel from the cavern to see what was there.

The cavern was enormous, with the same undulating stone floor and walls as the tunnel, and the light came from a small fire built in a pit. From the blackened patches in other places, it looked as if there had been many fires lit. This and the number of bedrolls strewn about made it clear that the invaders had been here for some time. The warrior priests I had seen must have come ashore and hidden here.

The sole occupants now, however, were two inner-circle Herder priests, each sitting on either side of the fire. One was elderly and wore the golden armband of an inner-cadre priest. This made him the likely commander, so why had he remained here when the warrior priests had marched up to the cloister? Unfortunately, both priests were banded, as the marchers had been, so I could not probe them.

A gust of sea-scented air blew through the small hole in the stone wall I clung to, and I could actually hear the muted
boom of waves, and I thought again that the tunnel must lead to one of the inlets.

The lesser of the priests began to speak. “Salamander said he wants as little killing or maiming as possible because it is a waste.”

“What Salamander wants is irrelevant,” said the senior priest coldly. “The One feels that a high number of deaths is desirable, both as a lesson and to cut down the corrupted population, which has accepted the dominion of freaks and Luddamned mutants. Once the Land is stabilized, we will breed a people without such undesirable tendencies as courage, inquisitiveness, and aggression. Far better to have a population born to obedience. The idea is to have a population that knows nothing but slavery and reveres its masters as superior beings that rule by Lud’s will.”

The two were silent awhile; then the younger spoke again. “What is the relationship between Salamander and Ariel? I have always wondered.”

“It is my understanding that they met over the sale of the rabble left after the firestorm that destroyed Henry Druid’s secret settlement. During that exchange, Ariel suggested to Salamander that he might serve himself in serving us.”

“Salamander must be wealthy beyond the dreams of ordinary men, and yet he is ever greedy for more slaves to sell. And his greed is matched by the greed of those who rule the Red Land for slaves to work their mines.”

“Only after he began to serve the Faction did Salamander acquire real power and wealth. The One says that this is a sign he is doing as Lud requires.”