He heard shouting from behind him and then a voice called out loudly. “Leave ’im! We have the other one, an’ he’ll be a better tool fer our purposes.” Piemur looked back over his shoulder briefly, but there was nothing to see—the passageway was in complete darkness.
He had no idea where he was going, and twice he ran into a wall, almost crashing headfirst, but his arms saved him from the worst of the impact. Realizing he could very easily run in circles and haplessly end up back in front of his captors, Piemur slowed his pace. He had to find light, or fresh air—anything that would take him out of this darkness!
From what he remembered, the cellars of Nabol were vast and intertwining. He stopped and stood quite still, trying to remember how many times he’d met solid walls and in which direction he’d gone when he’d turned. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in several deep breaths as he stilled his thoughts. When he hit the first wall he ran left and then left again. So now he should turn right at the next junction in the passageway.
Jogging forward slowly, Piemur kept one hand on a wall to steady himself. He jogged on, meeting several junctions in the system of passageways. He had no idea if he was getting farther away from or closer to his goal. At some point he had to meet up with a part of the cellar system that was lit with glows, so he plodded on doggedly, his head pounding and his back aching with every step.
Piemur had no idea how much time had passed, but he felt he had been running through the cellars for far too long. What if he was lost here forever? The thought raced around in his head and panic started to grip him. His breathing grew faster and shallower until he was overcome with dizziness. He leaned against a wall, doubled over at the waist, and then slowly sank down to the dry ground. He was on the point of allowing himself to succumb to total despair and tried to rest his head in his hands, but when his hand touched his head he could feel a lump from where he’d been hit. A shot of pain ran along the side of his face and he sucked in his breath. Anger suddenly flared up, supplanting the fear that nearly paralyzed him.
How dare they hit him! How dare they beat and tie up Sebell, too. A journeyman masterharper! We are not their enemies, Piemur raged. No one was their enemy! His breathing grew heavy as his sense of outraged indignation mounted. But as he took control again and his breathing eventually slowed, Piemur began to realize just how desperate those three holdless, feckless men were. They were close kin of Meron, the late Lord of Nabol, so it was no wonder they acted so abominably.
There had never been any secrecy about Lord Meron, a thoroughly unpleasant man who did nothing to improve his holders’ lot. He’d suffered from a long, wasting illness and had been slowly dying for several Turns, his next of kin fervently hoping all the while that he’d commit wholeheartedly to his condition sooner rather than later, but, alas, to his very last breath he failed to oblige. For Turns Meron kept his closest kin gathered around him, insisting they live cheek by jowl and at his pleasure—or lack of. He enjoyed goading them to bicker and fight with one another as he reveled in his handiwork.
Meron’s kin had learned to expect that the holdings he promised to bequeath to one hopeful relative would be dramatically and whimsically wrenched out of their hands over some perceived slight, only to be given to yet another eager kinsman who would, in due course, suffer the same fate. Such was Meron’s perverse predilection to bamboozle his kin and keep them all on tenterhooks that it was no surprise, Piemur reckoned, that they were all tainted with the same element of perversity and cruelty that had characterized every aspect of Meron’s life.
Meron had been, quite simply, a wicked man who got no greater satisfaction from life than when he was brewing up malaise and discord among his nearest and not-so-dearest clansfolk. Such perverse depravity needed to be leached out of Meron’s kin, Piemur knew, or it would never die, only spread and proliferate like Thread.
He sat there on the ground, and as he thought of the men who’d hurt him and Sebell, he absentmindedly grabbed handfuls of loose dirt from the ground. As he felt the dirt fall through his fingers he suddenly stopped. This dirt was dry! The ground in the cell where Jerrol had them locked up had been damp. What did that tell him? he asked himself. Think!
The damp parts of the cellars were probably no longer used, while the dry parts would be where all the provisions were stored. So if I follow the dry sand until it becomes packed underfoot, Piemur surmised, I should be in parts of the cellars that are more regularly used. He stood up and, with a greater sense of resolve, continued to walk along the passageway, periodically checking that the dirt beneath his feet was dry. If he erred in direction and the ground started to feel damp, he’d retrace his steps until he came to dry ground again.
He walked on, keeping one hand on the wall as he did until, with a jolt, his hand stubbed against something in the wall. Piemur felt it, a hard substance. Could this be a door? He ran his hand up and down the object, feeling what must be the frame, then he moved a few inches farther along and there it was—a door. He flattened his palm and rubbed it all over the door, but there was no handle. He pushed his weight against it, but the door wouldn’t budge. Never mind, he thought excitedly, if there’s one door, there has to be more. It’s a cellar, for shards’ sake! And he smiled to himself in the darkness.
Picking up the pace, Piemur walked farther along the passage, following it as it turned a corner. Another frame and door came up under his hand and he pressed his weight against it, but again it wouldn’t budge. He started to jog, and within a few paces his hand met another frame and door. He was on to something! Suddenly there was nothing, no wall or doors, just empty space. He retraced his steps to the wall, trying to get his bearings again, but when he moved forward or to either side, the passageway was empty. This must be an intersection, like a hallway. He moved slowly across the passageway and walked forward until his hand touched a wall. On an instinct, he crouched down and felt the dirt. It was dry, but not as loose. He was on packed soil! He must be getting close to the parts of the cellar that were more frequently used. Then Piemur’s foot banged into something hard, and with a shout of joy he reached down and felt the runs and riser of a stone step. Crouching down so he wouldn’t trip, he quickly climbed a set of stairs. The walls were steep here, too, he thought, realizing that he could actually see where he was going. Light was slowly increasing the farther he climbed, and when he reached a small landing he looked up and saw daylight bathing the stairs and the walls of the passage. He ascended another set of stone steps two at a time and almost fell into a little vestibule, off which were two doors to the left and one to the right. He took a guess and pushed at the door on the right and, after a slight budge and then a shimmy, the door finally pushed open, and Piemur was standing in the open air. Rain drizzled down on his head and he beamed.
He ran his hand along the thick, outer wall of the Hold and jogged onward, quickly coming to a small door that, once opened, led outside of the Hold proper.
When he ran through the door, slamming it behind him with a dull thud, he stopped dead in his tracks: his surroundings were completely unfamiliar.
I must be on the other side of Nabol Hold, Piemur guessed. He ran down a narrow rampart, passing a group of holders pushing a cart out of a deep, muddy rut, and followed the walls of the Hold all the way around until he finally came to the other rampart he was familiar with. Now that he had his bearings, Piemur ran full-tilt in the direction of Marek’s cothold, calling for Farli as he ran. His back was on fire and his lungs felt like they were going to burst. He wished he could stop for a drink of water, but he’d just have to wait.
Farli! Come to me, sweet thing. Farli!
Suddenly he remembered that Marek had gone hunting and wouldn’t be at his cot. He ran on, past the lane that led to Marek’s house, hoping that Skal might help him. As he ran, quickly closing the distance to Skal’s, he passed a small grove of trees and felt the barest of mental nudges. Is that Farli? He turned
his head to look back but couldn’t see anything. There it was again, another nudge, but it wasn’t familiar. He rubbed his eyes, still running fast, and then turned his head again to look behind him as he pelted along. Without any warning his forward momentum was abruptly stopped and a loud thwack rang out in his right ear as he plowed headfirst into the branch of a tree. He fell to the ground like a stone.
* * *
—
“Tsk, but look at the state of him.”
Piemur heard the disdain in the voice and wondered whom the speaker could be referring to. His head felt like it was exploding in short pulsing bursts of pain. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes; he knew it would hurt too much. Instead he lifted a hand to cautiously touch the side of his head and felt a lump the size of a fire-lizard egg just above his right ear. It was tender and sticky, too. Gingerly he felt above his left ear and, sure enough, the other lump was still there, though nowhere near as sore as the new one. What’s going on? Why am I all lumps and bumps?
“Now, there’s a lad who took too many scoops at Skal’s last night. Didn’t know when to stop, did he?” another voice commented in an equally critical tone. Piemur tried to sit up but failed at the first attempt, the ground seeming to slip right out from under his hand.
“Ah, but look at him, Fronna, he’s got a nasty cut on his head!” the first voice said. “We have to help him.”
“You’ve no idea where he’s from or what he’s been up to, Daisa. No, you’d best step away from him while I get Skal. He can sort this one out. His brew put him this way!” the grumpy voice said, and then Piemur heard the sound of feet stomping away.
His second attempt at pushing himself up succeeded, aided as it was with a gentle hand from Daisa, and he leaned back against a boulder just as Fronna returned with Skal. He opened his eyes, though his right one felt swollen and was hard to see out of. He decided it would be better if he simply closed that eye again, and the other one involuntarily closed in sympathy.
“I’ll look after this one, Fronna. You’ve no need to bother yourself about him now.”
“I certainly do, Skal! When you leave men littered around outside my cothold it becomes quite a bother, I can tell you! Shells, it’s a wonder why he’s fetched up here at all!” Fronna spluttered.
“Now, now, Fronna, it’s not that bad. He probably fell and hit his head,” Skal said as he gently leaned Piemur forward at the waist and eased in behind him so he could lift him up from under each arm.
“I can get up,” Piemur said. His voice sounded croaky even to his own ears, so he cleared his throat, realizing that a faint taste of vomit still lingered in his mouth. When he tried to stand, a shooting pain in his back made him gasp.
“Here you go,” Skal said, helping him to his feet. It was all Piemur could do not to wince, but he looked over at the two women who’d found him and dipped his head in acknowledgment, a weak smile of thanks on his lips.
“Ah, ye poor lad,” Daisa said “Go sleep it off, and when you wake, have a big, greasy feed. Then you’ll be all right.”
Fronna said nothing, merely stamped her feet on the ground impatiently, and then she linked her arm into Daisa’s and pulled her friend away.
“C’mon, lad,” Skal said, “best get out of Fronna’s sight till you’re more yourself. How’d you hurt your head?”
“I—I think I ran into a tree. I’m not quite sure what happened before those women found me. What hour of the day is it?” Piemur asked but Skal made a soothing noise, shaking his head while he led him to his cothold.
Once inside, Skal maneuvered Piemur into the sitting room on the left of the passageway and told him to wait, returning shortly with a beaker of water and a cup of steaming hot klah.
“I should go and find my master,” Piemur said. “He must be wondering where I am.”
“Naw, naw, lad, you’re goin’ nowhere for now. Not until I’ve got you sorted. Sit here awhile and get some water into you. I find that always helps.”
At first Piemur only sipped cautiously at the water, but once the liquid slid down his throat he responded to his body’s urgent need and downed the remainder in one long draft. He hoped it wouldn’t reappear again unbidden. As he set the beaker down, he noted that his hand was shaking slightly, and he quickly closed it into a fist to steady it.
“You must’ve gotten some bang on the head, lad. That lump’s the size of my fist!” Skal said.
A sharp jolt of anxiety washed over Piemur. Sebell! He had no idea how long he’d been away from him. Had Jerrol and his men untied Sebell from the bench, or was the journeyman masterharper still confined in that contorted position? What if they had beaten him again? Piemur couldn’t bear to think about it, but he couldn’t help himself. Sebell was in trouble! And Piemur now knew that Jerrol, Jentis, and Serra were very serious about achieving their goal. What was it he had heard one of them shouting as he was running away? He’ll be a better tool for our purposes, or something like that. Enough, Piemur told himself, I have to find help and get Sebell out of those cellars!
He took a last, big gulp of the klah and then thanked Skal for his help, cutting the older man off when he tried to insist that Piemur rest longer. He left the brewhouse, thankful for the small bonus of clear blue skies overhead, and set off at a jog, and when that pace didn’t worsen the pain in his back he decided to ignore his throbbing head and accelerated to a full-blown sprint. He had to get help! Get a message to Menolly, or perhaps N’ton or J’hon. They’d know what to do. If only he could reach his little gold queen, she could find Kimi—who could find Sebell—or at least get a message to Menolly’s fire-lizards! But every time he tried to focus his thoughts and push out hard to Farli, calling her to come to him, he felt as if he were reaching into empty space. It didn’t help that his head pounded in a steady rhythm every time his feet hit the ground. But he ran on, closing his mind to the ache in his back and the pain in his head.
As Piemur got closer to Nabol Hold, the number of people using the path increased and he had to slow his pace to avoid crashing into anyone. Folk were going about their daily routines, exchanging greetings or waves of acknowledgment as they passed one another. Piemur got a few curious glances, no doubt, he guessed, because of his disheveled appearance.
When he finally rounded the corner to stand in front of the eastern ramparts of the Hold, Piemur came to an abrupt halt and his stomach sank.
There was Kimi, flying in frantic, erratic circles a meter above the ground, chirruping shrilly. Piemur pursed his lips and let out a sharp whistle. Kimi stopped in midflight, hovered momentarily, and then all but flung herself at Piemur in a frenzied flurry of wings and relieved cheeps and chirps. She flew too close to his head and her talons scraped against one of the bumps, causing fresh blood to flow down his face in a thin stream.
“Easy, Kimi!” Piemur said, holding one hand to his wounded head and the other one out for the agitated fire-lizard to land on but Kimi continued to fly around him, unwilling to settle down. A group of passersby glanced uneasily at Piemur before moving through the gates and into the Hold. Two little boys couldn’t stop staring at the frenzied golden fire-lizard circling his head. Piemur smiled wanly at the boys and took a dozen paces backward, out of the flow of pedestrians; at the same time, he dropped his outstretched arm and tried to still his thoughts.
Easy, he thought, trying his best to broadcast to the queen, easy, Kimi. We’ll find Sebell. Be easy, Kimi, settle. But Kimi continued her erratic flight, trilling loudly. She must be calling for Sebell, Piemur guessed, and she can’t get an answer from him. I knew I shouldn’t have left him! The thought ripped through him in a rush of panic and he felt as if he was going to be sick. His legs seemed to fold under him, leaving his body no choice but to follow, and he sat down hard on the ground, right where he stood. His thoughts raced around in his head and an unfamiliar feeling of panic spread outward from his gut. He had to calm
down! And he had to calm Kimi, too, or they’d never be able to figure a way out of this.
In a very soft voice Piemur called Kimi’s name over and over. She paid him no heed. So he hummed a gentle melody, one that was sung to every young child on Pern when they were scared or upset, hoping it would calm the frantic queen.
“Sh-sh, Kimi. I’m here,” Piemur called quietly. “Come to me, Kimi, then we can find Sebell together.”
The little queen’s calls grew more raucous at mention of Sebell’s name and Piemur could have kicked himself. He persisted, though, continuing to hum the gentle melody, pausing frequently to make shushing sounds and call Kimi to him. Finally, exhausted, Kimi slowed her frantic flight and with more encouragement from Piemur came to rest at last on his hand, her eyes whirling bright red. She gazed intently into his eyes and trilled at him. It was a piteous sound that articulated all her anxiety and fear, and tore at his heart.
“This isn’t right,” Piemur whispered. He stared intently at the fire-lizard. She must be unable to make a mental connection with Sebell, he brooded. And then he realized: Shards, Kimi thinks Sebell is dead!
He stared straight ahead, his eyes huge as panic gripped him. No! There has to be some other reason why Kimi can’t connect to Sebell right now. Sebell must be alive, he just needs help. If only I hadn’t left him! He called to Farli again but felt nothing, not even a murmur, from her. He shook his head; no point in wasting any more time in that quarter.
“Kimi. Kimi, look at me,” Piemur said, forcing himself to remain calm. He had to get her to understand him and he didn’t think sheer force of will would be enough. Shards, he wished he were as familiar with Kimi as he was with his own queen and Menolly’s Beauty. He felt panic starting to rise again and took a few deep breaths. He made a clear picture of Menolly in his head and then called Kimi’s name again.
“Kimi. Kimi, go to Menolly,” Piemur said, staring into the little queen’s eyes and hoping she could see the image he was broadcasting. Kimi’s whirling eyes slowed slightly, and the color changed from bright, frightened red to a deep, alarmed amber. She tilted her head at Piemur and chirped once, as if asking him to repeat himself.
Dragon's Code Page 19