Well, relatively easy.
Doria shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Don't worry about it." He looked at Andrea, spreading his hands as though to say that they'd finish the discussion later, when they again had a little privacy; she nodded. Ahira turned back to Doria and pulled a trick from Hakim's repertoire: He breathed on his fingernails and buffed them lightly across his chest. "Sometimes I'm so clever I don't even understand myself."
* * *
Karl and his horse were the first to reach the Waste; Ahira had let him range ahead a bit, and he liked that. He was relaxed, even comfortable on his large, reddish-brown mare; the fore-and-aft peaked saddle supported him well. But it wasn't just the saddle. Karl was taking full advantage of having his Barak persona to draw on: His thigh muscles held him firmly to the seat, his hips shifted automatically to keep him firmly astride, instead of bouncing on his tailbone, the way that the rest had been for most of the trip, until they gradually learned how to ride.
Except for Walter, of course. Karl turned to give a nod to the thief, who was basking comfortably in the late-afternoon sun on the blankets he had used to pad the cart's seat, guiding the mules with only an occasional twitch of his lazy fingers. Probably some of Walter's avowed affection for the mules was honest; certainly he'd staked out the cart at least partly from concern for his own tender buttocks, leaving his swayback gelding hitched behind with little to no regret. "Enjoying the ride?"
Walter responded with a nod and a wink. No, no doubt about it at all.
Aristobulus' whine drifted forward. Complaining, as usual. Karl urged his mare farther forward. A good horse; she needed only a touch of his heels to break into a canter, and then a light flick on the reins to slow her back down to a walk.
He stroked her reddish-brown neck, solid and dry under his palm. "Good girl—you don't even mind hauling my weight, do you?" She raised her head a bit higher, and snorted.
Ahead the Waste of Elrood stretched out across the horizon; a flat brown ocean of sunbaked mud, random cracks in the hard surface covering as if it were a fine netting that had been woven by a mad giant.
Ahira's voice boomed from behind him. "Karl—wait a moment."
Shrugging, Karl let the dwarf, bouncing on the back of his little pony, catch up. "Problem?"
Ahira shook his head. "No, I need some advice. The rest of these . . . animals seem to be kind of spooked by the terrain. Do you think we ought to walk them a while? Maybe that way they can get used to it?"
Karl turned to look behind. The others' horses were twitchy, all right; what with the snorting and skittish steps they were taking, it could easily tire the animals out much sooner than it should.
"I don't think so," he said. "Look at them. Hell, look at you. You're the worst."
The dwarf scowled. "What about me?"
"The purpose of riding isn't to keep as much air as possible between your backside and your saddle, you know—the reason you have to spend so much time walking your pony is that you don't have the slightest idea of how to ride him. Same for the rest, although they're not as bad."
Aristobulus' mount stepped to one side to avoid a rut; as usual, the wizard tried to overcontrol the little mare, frustrating the horse almost as much as himself.
Ahira's right hand slipped to the hilt of his axe. That was probably unconscious; Karl resisted the urge to loosen his sword from its saddle-bound scabbard. Easy, you're among friends.
"Dammit, Karl, have a bit of sympathy. How long did it take you to learn how to ride?"
Karl shrugged. "I just seemed to pick it up."
"Came with the territory, right? Sort of like Hakim's ability to move silently and—and my darksight, no?"
"So?"
The dwarf threw up his hands, startling his pony. "Easy, you damned little—easy, I said. So, it didn't come naturally to me. Or Andrea, Hakim, Doria, or Ari. Don't put on airs because you ride better than we can; it's just a lucky break. For you. It's not a virtue." Ahira reached behind himself, rubbing vigorously.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
Karl sighed. "Don't twitch in the saddle like that. Your pony doesn't know what you're doing, and he doesn't like it."
Ahira opened his mouth as though to say something to the effect that he really couldn't care less what his animal liked or didn't, then shrugged. "You still didn't answer my question."
Karl thought it over for a moment. At least Ahira's idea would give the riders some time off their mounts, give them a chance to work out some stiffness. "Actually, I've got a better idea."
Ahira's mouth quirked. "Let me guess: We get the critters used to the different surface by galloping them for a few miles, right?"
"Wrong. A horse isn't an automobile; you can kill it if you push it too hard. No, how about this? We pitch camp here until dark, then travel at night. At least for tonight—we can pitch those blankets as tarps, keep the sun off. I know you don't think that water's a problem anymore, but we might as well save all we can. And this way the horses, at least the ones who need it"—he patted his mare's neck—"can take some time to get used to this surface, just by standing around on it."
"Done!" The dwarf jerked his pony to a halt and bounced to the ground. "Everybody, time for a break."
Andrea slumped in the saddle. "Thank goodness."
"About time." Aristobulus slid off his horse.
"Fine with me." Doria levered herself out of her saddle and dropped lightly to the ground.
Walter reined in the mules, shrugging. "I don't see what the problem is. But I'm easy." He tied the reins to the back of his seat and vaulted to the sunbaked earth. "What's the plan? We've got another couple of hours until sundown—shouldn't we get some traveling done?"
Now free of his pony and any necessity of following Karl's advice not to spook the animal, Ahira rubbed viciously at the base of his spine as though trying to scour the pain away. "This surface is so flat that it won't be dangerous to travel at night. So that's what we'll do, at least for tonight. We'll pitch the tarps for shade, catch some sleep, then start up again around midnight, when the ground's cooled off enough."
Doria nodded. "You're still worried about the water."
"Not worried. Just cautious." Ahira stretched broadly. "Once we hit the far side of the Waste, I want to have as much left as possible. We don't know how deep in Bremon the Gate is, and we may need all we can carry."
Karl nodded. A good point, and one he hadn't thought of. Then again, knowing how to deal with tunnels probably came naturally to the dwarf in the same way that riding came easily to Karl.
Ahira pulled the thin white blankets out of the back of the wagon. "Hakim and I can pitch these as puptents. Do we have any volunteers for first watch?"
Andrea smiled. "You sure do." She walked over to Karl and tapped him on the chest with an extended finger. "I think Karl's had an easy enough time in the saddle; time to put him to work."
The dwarf nodded. "Fine. The two of you are on watch until it's been dark for at least a couple of hours. Walter and Ari replace you then."
"Now wait a minute—" she started.
"The two of you."
Karl's forehead wrinkled, almost painfully. Now that was strange. Ahira had been keeping Andrea and him away from each other. Which made sense. But—never mind. If I understood people, I'd have stayed in psych.
He cast an eye at the setting sun. Well, he'd already put up with worse than a few hours of stony silence.
* * *
Andrea stared out at the Waste of Elrood. By starlight, it reminded her of the pictures the Apollo astronauts had brought back from the moon, the ones from the Mare what's-its-name, the Sea of something-or-other.
She sighed. I was supposed to have that quiz the morning after that night at the Student Union, and that probably would have been on it.
Stars twinkled over a scarred wasteland. Just flat, cracked ground, gray in the dark. The sorcerers who fought here must have been very powerful, and more than a bi
t mad; what sane person would want to turn greenery into this?
She turned around to look at the others. Under the bed of the wagon, Walter snored quietly. She couldn't make out his features, but she knew that his broad face would be creased with a light smile. Still maintaining the image, eh? The fight back in Lundeyll had scared him badly, but Walter Slovotsky wouldn't reveal that, not even in his sleep.
Doria curled next to him, tossing fitfully. Look, Andrea wanted to say, I don't know what's gone on with you and Karl, but . . .
But what? That was the problem.
Under their respective puptents, Aristobulus and Ahira slept quietly. There was something similar about the two of them. Maybe it was that they were both so one-directional. Ari just wanted to get some spell books, and this trip across the Waste seemed to him to be a way to do that. Period.
Ahira was different, though. He was just pushing to get them home. Just the rest of us, James Michael Finnegan. And who do you think you're fooling? The dwarf had never said so, but anyone could see that he was just along to get the rest of them through the Gate; once that was done, Ahira would turn and run. You don't really expect any of us to believe that you're going back to being a cripple, do you? Not when he could be healthy and strong here.
She nodded in admiration. Not for the first time. A sense of responsibility, that's what Ahira had. Ahira felt guilty about the rest of them being here. No, not guilt; she was right the first time. Responsible, that was it.
She turned back. Karl was still looking at her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be ignoring her. Maybe that was for the best, at least for the time being.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
He got up from his seat on a stack of blankets and walked over. "Enough games, Andy. We've got to talk."
She jerked her chin at the plain. "Then let's move away a bit. No need to wake the others."
He smiled thinly as he followed her. "I wasn't planning on yelling and screaming. Were you?"
She shook her head. "Not really. I think this is far enough. Do you want to sit down?"
He snickered. "I'd better be sitting for this? Okay." They sat tailor-fashion on the cracked ground, Karl balancing his sword across his lap.
"Do you have to have that with you? I don't think anyone's going to steal it, out in the middle of nowhere."
He shrugged, and pulled the blade a few inches from the scabbard. "It's a fine piece of steel, isn't it?" Silvery metal gleamed wickedly in the starlight. "And I've got this habit of losing things. I guess I'm afraid that if I ever let it out of my hands, that'll be the end of it." He slipped the blade back. "But you're changing the subject. Deliberately?"
"I'm not sure. Do I have to be?"
"No. I don't make the rules. Sometimes I don't even know what they are."
She bit her lower lip. "As in what the rules for you and me are."
He nodded, looking her square in the eyes. "Exactly. If I didn't know better I'd swear you're trying to get me to hate you, or at least dislike you one hell of a lot. And I'd kind of like to know why that's a stupid idea of mine." He shrugged. "I am stupid sometimes. Ignorant, too. I have it on good authority."
"Doria?"
"Not quite." He folded his fingers behind his head and stretched back. "I have bad breath or something?"
There was a lot different about Karl now, beyond the physical changes. We could have had almost exactly this conversation a few months ago, and Karl would have been trembling inside that I'd turn him down. He isn't anymore.
"Did anyone ever tell you you're always too goddam intense about everything?" The violence of her own words surprised her. "About whatever you happen to be majoring in at the moment, about whatever diversion you're into, about—"
"About you?" He chuckled thinly. "Is this going to be another episode of Slovotsky's Laws?"
"What?"
Karl shook his head, his eyes closed tightly. "One of Walter's ideas about life. It runs something like: 'Whatever you want too much, you can't have, so when you really want something, try to want it a little less.' Is that what this is all about?"
"No. It's not that. It's just that I'm not sure I'm ready for all that intensity about me." She reached out to take his hand; he pulled it back. "Can you understand that? It's not that I don't like you, it's not that I'm not attracted to you—"
"Now, that is." He raised an arm and flexed his biceps. "What with the new, improved body, and all." Karl lowered his arm. "Which is one thing I'm going to be sorry to give up, once we get back."
"You're going to be sorry to get back?"
"Don't be silly." He sneered. "I like the good things in life. Bathing regularly, television, dentistry, not having a price on my head. Stuff like that. And you're changing the subject again. Which suggests that once we get back, and I'm short, skinny Karl Cullinane again—"
"Shut up." Sometimes he made her so mad. "It isn't that at all. Women aren't as shallow as men."
"Thank you, Betty Friedan."
"It's just that you're incapable of keeping things . . . casual. No, that's not the word. What I'm trying to say is—"
Fear touched the back of her neck. Ignoring her natural reflexes, she closed her eyes. Her aura wrapped her thinly; it was easy to see Aristobulus' glowing strongly, a few hundred feet away, blazing in the night like a red beacon.
But there was something else, too. Not quite distinct enough to see with her inner vision, but there. "Karl." She opened her eyes. He was shaking his head, as though to wake up, his eyelids sagging shut, despite himself.
"Andy, I—" He slumped over.
Invisible fingers wrapped themselves around her throat, cutting off her air. She tried to pry them away, but they were like steel bands.
"Don't let go of her, Ohlmin," a harsh voice whispered. "Not until she's safely gagged."
"And then," another voice answered, "we can enjoy ourselves."
She opened her mouth to scream, but a cottony softness filled it. A rough hand clutched at her breasts. She struggled uselessly.
"I want this one first. There's still a lot of fight left in her."
* * *
Karl awoke slowly. And that bothered him, even in his half-awake, just-a-few-more-minutes-please state. He brought his hand down to wipe at his eyes.
His hand stopped short; his wrist was tangled up with something cold and hard.
Wait a minute! I was just talking to Andy—I never woke Walter. His eyes snapped open. "What the hell—"
A small fist came out of nowhere and struck him on the cheekbone. Pain lanced through his skull. He brought his hands down in a practiced—
—his wrists jerked in their iron cuffs, fastened in heavy chains to something over his head and behind him.
"I told you that nobody ever beats me," Ohlmin rasped. "Ever."
Karl shook his head, trying to clear it. Slowly, his eyes focused, becoming accustomed to the gloom. Hakim and Ahira sat beside him on the narrow bench of the small room, both still unconscious, both chained at wrists and ankles.
And in front of him, leaning over him close enough so that Karl could smell the reek of garlic and wine on his breath, Ohlmin stood, smirking.
"Sleep spells are handy things, no?" He slapped Karl lightly on the cheek. "Even if the wizards are resistant to them." Ohlmin smiled. "But spells of invisibility can fool their eyes, too."
"What are you—" A boot drove into his belly; Karl gasped for air.
"You speak when you are spoken to. Understood?" Ohlmin's voice was calm now, and somehow that was more frightening than his earlier rasp. "But I won't hurt you very much, Karl Cullinane. I've got to save you for Pandathaway. You're going to make me a rich man."
Karl tried to spit at him, but couldn't muster the breath to do it. Or the saliva, for that matter. His mouth was as dry as the Waste.
Stop reacting for a moment, and think. He fingered the chains. Slight ridges along the links proclaimed that they were cast iron, not forged. And that was good, p
ossibly. If he had enough strength, if he had enough leverage, he could shatter them. Maybe. Cast iron was more brittle than forged. Just maybe . . .
His Barak-self didn't think much of that idea. They're far too thick. But the wall behind you is wood. You may just be able to jerk them loose from the wall.
"Feel free to continue thinking about escaping, Karl Cullinane." Ohlmin chuckled. "They always do. But"—he tapped at the wall— "the wagon is belted with iron straps, which is what the chains are bolted to."
Wagon? It wasn't a small room, then. They were in a wagon. No advantage there.
Better find some advantage, quickly. Ohlmin was close enough, just maybe. Karl lashed out with his right foot.
The cuff scraped his ankle as his foot was jerked to a halt, inches from Ohlmin's leg.
A chuckle. "We are professionals. And, just for your enlightenment, the rest of your party is well secured. Both of the wizards and the cleric are gagged. We may have to cut out the old man's tongue, eventually, but I'm sure we'll work out something else for the women. It would be a waste, wouldn't it?" He smiled, reached out, and patted Karl's head. Somehow that was more frightening than being struck. The light pat said that Karl was a harmless nothing, well secured. No danger at all.
Karl forced himself to keep his voice level. "Are you going to tell me how you found us, or are you trying to have me die of curiosity?"
Ohlmin laughed. "Ah, you did that very well. If I didn't know better, I'd think that you weren't terrified." He shrugged lightly. "But I don't see why not. The Guilds' Council finally prevailed on one of the grandmaster wizards to bring out his crystal ball, to find out who had stolen their dragon." Again, he patted Karl's head. "And you, my friend, are worth twenty-five hundred pieces of gold to me. My wizard—Blenryth; I don't think you've met him—is charging me quite a lot for those sleep and invisibility spells we caught you with, and quite a lot more for the one that kept us on your trail. But I'll still come out ahead." He spat in Karl's face. "I always come out ahead."
The Sleeping Dragon Page 18