The Eye of the Hunter (66 page)

“Oh, child,” said the Emir, “worry not. This is not an antidote. This is nothing but colored water.

“Fools! There is no antidote for the poison running in your veins.”

Early 5E990
[The Present]

D
own through the twisting streets of Nizari rode the trio down and away from the Scarlet Citadel, following the soldier riding before them. Night had fallen, and the guide bore a lantern, though here among the lighted dwellings and shops in the Red City its luminance was not needed Urus rode stiffly, his knuckles white on the reins, his fury but barely held in check. Beside him, Riatha rode in grim silence, her lips compressed in a thin white line. Aravan, lagging after, gritted his teeth in frustration, the muscles jumping in his jaw. Although they followed the guard, their thoughts were back in the citadel, where entrapped and poisoned were Faeril and Gwylly, held in the clutch of the Prince of the city to warrant the death of Stoke. And so down through the tangled streets they rode, their thoughts churning in rage.

At last they came to the city gates, and at a word from their escort, on through they rode, past the warders there and beyond the high city walls.

Westerly they turned, bearing southward, heading into the Talâk Range, the walls of the pass steadily rising about them, looming upward toward the stars. Now the soldier’s lantern cast a swaying light on the stony way, its glow pressing back the shadows as into the gloom they rode.

Onward they forged into the pass, the path curving, meandering, the walls closing in here and falling back
there, in places a furlong or two apart, in other places mere yards between. The steady pace of the horses devoured the ground and within two hours they reached their goal: a narrow crevice splitting off southward from the main pass.

The soldier leading them drew up, his eyes wide with fright, and waited for Aravan to ride to the fore. [“This is your way,”] the guide said in the Kabla tongue, gesturing up the slot. [“The place you seek is miles beyond at the end of this arroyo: a downcast mosque of the false prophet. Here I leave you with a message from my Emir. I do not understand the meaning of his words, yet he bade me to repeat them: ‘Remember, your children’s lives run like swift sand through a glass. One week, no more, is all you have.’ “]

As the guide fell silent, Aravan gritted, [“Say this to thy Prince: We will return within the sevenday, Stoke’s head in our possession. Yet heed! Should aught happen to either child, then thou wilt discover why Stoke feared us so.”]

Aravan turned his horse and into the notch he went, Riatha and Urus following after. The soldier sat listening to the footfalls of the steeds, sweat running in rivulets down his face—his dread of this haunted ravine nearly overcoming his sense of duty. When he could hear the horses no more, quickly he turned and rode swiftly away, his mount running at a dangerous pace through the enshadowed pass.

* * *

The soft cry of a Jillian crow echoed up the canyon.

“He is gone,” said Riatha, prodding her horse into motion. Urus grunted and followed, and back down the ravine they rode, Aravan’s mare on a tether trailing behind the Baeran.

When they reached the narrow opening and rode beyond into the pass, Aravan stepped from the shadows into the starlight, and Riatha and Urus dismounted.

Riatha was the first to speak: “Two courses of action lie before us: we can go on to Stoke’s holt, slay him, and return to Nizari with his head; or we can ride back to Nizari now, free our companions, and then proceed to Stoke’s mosque.”

Aravan’s eyes glinted in the starlight. “I trust not this
‘Assassin of Assassins’ to keep his word. Even should we bring him Stoke’s head, still he may betray us.

“There is this as well: should we fail, or even be late the Waerlinga’s lives are forfeit.

“Nay, Riatha, going after Stoke with them yet in the clutches of the Emir entails considerable risk to Faeril and Gwylly. I would rather go back and free them now, this night.”

Riatha nodded. “I do not trust this ‘High Assassin’ either, for when I went to see the Waerlinga, they were wan, pallid, the poison already at work upon them.”

Urus spat upon the ground. “Can you find this place again, this room where they are held?”

“Aye, I looked well out that window. If they have not been moved, they are on the third floor above an ornamental garden. Outward, to the left of the window, to the right as we look inward, in garden center stands a statue of a Man on horseback…. The window, however, is barred.”

“I will deal with the bars,” said Urus. “I am more concerned with the poison. How will we nullify it?”

“Gwynthyme.”

“Will it counteract this venom of the Emir’s?”

“I have not known it to fail.”

Urus grunted. “Still, it is a risk. The Emir claimed to have the only antidote, and should we take Faeril and Gwylly from the citadel and the gwynthyme not work then…”

“Then we will yet have some days to contrive to get the antidote.”

Aravan glanced at the two of them. “If he indeed has an antidote.”

Urus growled. “Garn! The imponderables mount up.”

“Aye,” responded Riatha, “yet imponderables or not, we must decide.”

Aravan’s fingers strayed to his throat. The blue stone amulet held an edge of chill. “I say we go now, for I deem they are in danger. Too, Riatha has mentioned a thing that could thwart all of our plans, and it is this: what if they move the Waerlinga to a different place?”

Without another word they mounted up, spurring their horses into a canter back toward the Red City.

* * *

As they drew near the entrance to the pass, the waning gibbous Moon rose, shedding its yellow light slanting across the land, sharp-edged mooncast darkness streaming from rock and ridge and pinnacle. Ahead they could see the city clutched against the mountains, and as they had planned while returning, they angled their horses up the rocky slope, keeping to the shadows, aiming for the southwest corner of the wall surrounding the citadel, deeming that perhaps there would be less vigilance at the rear of the fortress.

They came to a shallow gully a quarter mile from the wall, and there they tethered the horses to the gnarled growth. Taking up their climbing gear and weaponry, and crouching low and following the deep ruts and furrows of the land, they made their way toward the citadel and farther upslope, seeking a place where they could look down on the ramparts.

At last they reached a high ridge, and in the moonlight they watched as the guards slowly made their rounds: there were but two, walking together, patrolling the walls above. Yet at each corner stood a sentry viewing the ’scape below, though whenever the two roaming guards passed, they would stop for a while and chat.

“Hèl!” spat Urus. “Given the placement of the sentries, it seems we will have to go up the wall midway between corners.”

Aravan grunted his agreement. “Then let us climb the westernmost wall, for there the moonshadow is deepest.”

Riatha sighed. “The room holding the Waerlinga faces east, where the moonlight is brightest.”

“We’ve no help for that,” rumbled Urus. “Let us go now.”

Back down among the folds in the land scuttled the trio, heading for the westernmost wall.

* * *

“The crevices between the stones are mortared, the seams narrow and shallow,” whispered Riatha. “The fingers of neither of ye are as slender as mine. I will climb.”

Urus started to object, but Aravan cut him off. “She is right, Urus.”

“When I reach the top, I will lower a rope. Wait for my signal ere climbing. I will tug three times when it is safe.”

Up went the Elfess, slowly, free-climbing an offset join where abutted two columns of the massive blocks, jamming fingers and feet into narrow crevices, keeping three points anchored while shifting the fourth, making certain of her support ere moving on. The distance to the openings in the castellated wall was some forty feet above, the very top some five feet beyond. And it took her an eternity to travel those forty feet.

Just ere reaching the top, Riatha paused and listened, hearing nought. Carefully, she clambered on up the merlon, and when she could, she stepped into the crenel.

Again she listened…silence. She risked a quick look, then ducked back. The patrol was just leaving the southwest corner, coming her way.

Quickly, carefully, Riatha sought to regain her hand- and footholds on the merlon, racing against time yet moving slowly, small bits of loose mortar falling into the darkness below. At last she discovered her former holds and moved back onto the wall.

There she held—it seemed forever—yet at last the guards scuffed past. When they had moved sufficiently beyond, back into the crenel she stepped. Shaking with tension and fatigue, the Elfess uncoiled a rope, and after another quick look, anchored the small grapnel by two tines over the top of the merlon. Down she payed out the line, and when she felt the tug from below, she returned the signal with three quick pulls.

Urus came up first, the big Man haling hand over hand, stepping into the crenel beside her. “There’s a ramp downward just across the banquette,” whispered Riatha. “Go when it is safe.”

Urus peered out at the corners opposite, then risked a glance at those adjacent. Moving in swift grace and silence, suddenly he was across and down.

Again Riatha tugged on the line, and up swarmed Aravan, as a sailor would swarm up rigging.

While the Elf unhooked the grapnel and recoiled the line, Riatha slipped across the walkway and down the ramp.

In quick succession, Aravan followed.

Down in the moonshade behind the outbuildings the three gathered. Following the wall, they glided through the dark, heading ’round the back and to the opposite side. Several times they paused, while soldiers passed in the
moonlight. At last they circled to the far wall. Passing between buildings, they came to the flagstone pave. Across the way and slightly toward the rear of the citadel, they could see a garden, several palm trees scattered among the low-lying shrubs. In the midst of the trees stood the statue described by Riatha—a Man on horseback. Above and to the left, three storeys up was a dark window, barred. “There,” hissed Riatha, pointing. “There is the chamber where last I saw Faeril and Gwylly.”

Aravan looked across the bailey. “We will be in open moonlight as we cross over, and the wall we must scale is illumined by the silver beams.”

“Nevertheless,” growled Urus, “we must cross and climb.”

“What of the bars?” queried Riatha.

“Just get a rope ’round them,” responded Urus. “The Bear will take care of the rest.”

Aravan’s eyes widened, then he looked at Riatha. “Thou stay on the ground with the Bear, Dara. This time it is I who will climb.”

“If the stone permits,” amended the Elfess.

They waited until the patrol above had passed to the far side of the central dome. No one was in sight in the courtyard, and the corner sentries seemed to be watching the ’scape beyond the walls. Across the flagstone and into the garden they scurried, and they crouched down behind the broad pedestal supporting the statue, listening for calls of alarm; none were sounded.

The sculpture they hid behind was carved in the likeness of the Emir, somewhat more heroic than the tall, portly Prince, yet recognizable.

Hearing no challenges, they made their way to the wall of the building, finding only hairline seams between the red marble slabs cladding the side of the building, nothing that would permit free-climbing.

“Vash!”
cursed Aravan. “We cannot use rocknails; the pounding will bring the guards.” He stood back and gazed upward. “A grapnel, then…”

“The noise,” warned Riatha.

Urus began ripping cloth from the hem of his shirt. “We will muffle the tines.”

They wrapped fabric about the hooks and haft of the small grapnel, and waited until the patrol had passed from
sight again and the corner guards were looking outward. Aravan then made the toss, the grappling hook catching on the bars the very first cast, a faint muffled thud the only sound.

Aravan reversed his cloak, for although its color did not match that of the stone, the shade of the inner cloth more closely resembled the tone of the marble. “I will signal when I am ready.”

Again they waited until the patrol passed from view, then up swarmed the Elf. At the window he looked into the room, and by the pale moonlight shining inward, he could see a bed and two small forms upon it.

Holding onto the heavy ornate grille Aravan loosened the grapnel, reaching under the frame and through and resetting the spikes to catch the sill beyond. Then one-handed, he looped a slipknot in the line, fixing a snapring therein. The ring he clipped to his climbing harness, and after making certain that the hook would hold, he let the line bear his weight.

Doubling a second line and tying it about the bars, he payed both ends down to those waiting below.

And he held his breath and did not move as the patrol on the ramparts slowly paced into view.

They stood and spoke with the corner guard for some time, then laughing, slowly moved on. They made some remark in passing to the next corner guard, and he, too, burst out in laughter as the pair on patrol continued their stately pace.

Aravan let out a sigh of relief as they moved beyond seeing.

And down below, beneath the trees, from the midst of a shimmering darkness emerged the Bear.

Quickly Riatha fashioned a simple rope harness and looped it about the Bear, the beast uncooperative, snuffling among the flowers, digging up bulbs to eat. At last all was ready.

“Urus, pull!” hissed the Elfess.

The Bear looked at this two-legs standing beside him, her hair pale in the bright night. Then he swung his head about, peering over his shoulder at the ropes arcing up through the trees.
“Whuff.”
He ambled forward several paces, until the ropes grew taut. And then he leaned into them, pulling, the lines stretching…to no avail.

And whispering in his ear was this two-legs, urging him on.