by Ann Lawrence
“Aye. We lost our way in a side stream and needed to backtrack. ‘Tis lucky we found our way at all.” There was a slight tremor in Ardra’s voice. Gwen crossed her fingers.
One archer gestured them closer. Water sheeted down from the lip of rock over his head. Despite the rain, his arrow was clearly aimed at the center of Ardra’s chest. “You will need to light your way.” He lowered his bow. Setting it aside, he tossed down a rush torch and a small pouch. “I am sorry; it is very wet.”
“You would do well to take better care next time.” Gwen stiffened at Ardra’s complaint, then realized that for the woman in charge, making such a complaint would not be unusual.
The man bowed and took up his weapon. Gwen felt as if the archer’s eyes were burning holes into her back as she shoved the boat along with the oar. They entered a huge maw of blackness—and rapids.
Like an amusement park ride, the boat rushed through the opening. Gwen swallowed a scream as the boat smashed against the rock wall, bounced off, and was swept inside.
Blackness enveloped them. A hand touched hers—Vad’s. She clutched it—hard. They were being pulled along with the tide, with no steering, no ability to stop. A loud roar of water sounded ahead. A waterfall? Gwen’s insides churned. She pictured them going over the falls, smashing in a pile of splintered wood and bone. Only Vad’s hand reassured her.
Without warning, the boat stopped short. They were thrown forward into a heap of arms and legs in the bottom of the boat. Vad’s hair whipped across her mouth.
“Yuk.” She spat out the eel grease caught on her tongue.
“Stay where you are. That was a most terrible docking,” Ardra said. Gwen stifled a retort about warnings. She could not identify the sounds coming from the bow, but when a smoky light gleamed out from where Ardra stood, she realized it was the sound of flint striking stone.
The cavern was so dark, the scant light of Ardra’s torch made her feel as if they were in a tiny oasis and all about them was a desert of blackness.
“There,” Ardra said, raising the torch and pointing at the set of slimy-looking steps cut into the rocky wall and leading to a long, flat landing.
Vad tied up the boat to a gleaming brass ring—a sign that the docking site was well tended despite the slippery steps—then he climbed out, turned, and assisted first Ardra and then Gwen from the boat. Gwen wanted to leap back into it and somehow leave this dark, moldy cavern.
“I know many rooms in the grotto that are not known to anyone save my father. He is far too occupied, too ill at heart, to be searching about down here.”
“Don’t you think you should make an appearance first? What if the guards mention you’ve arrived, but your father hasn’t seen you yet?”
Vad agreed.
“I will at least take you to a safe spot to await my return. A warm place where you may bathe in one of the old springs.” Ardra held the smoky torch aloft and marched forward. With the greasy smoke and dripping walls, Gwen felt almost smothered.
Within moments, Vad felt lost. They had turned and twisted through the underground caves until he did not know if he was facing in the direction of the sun-rising or not.
Each step away from the boat reminded him quite sharply that he hated dark places. Something wet dripped on his neck. He almost cried out, but stifled the sound in time.
Finally, when he wanted to turn and run back, Ardra halted. She lifted the torch. A sheer wall faced them. Water ran down it in small rivulets.
“A dead end. Are we lost?” Gwen asked.
Lost. He could not be lost in this torturous place.
Chapter Fifteen
“No, we are not lost.” Ardra gave a soft laugh. “I wish I could bring Narfrom here, though, and lose him.”
Gwen looked from Ardra to Vad. He shifted the bows and settled his long knife lower on his hip. Her gaze followed the movement. “Vad, Ardra. Look.” Gwen grabbed Vad’s forearm, and he groaned at the contact with his wound. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but look.”
She gestured Ardra near with the torch. The hilt of Vad’s knife was almost gray. “The knife handle, it’s losing its color. You’re ill. Your arm must be much worse than it looks. You can’t do this. Let someone else rescue the maidens.”
Ardra touched the tip of her finger to the knife handle. “It is the light, or your imagination, Gwen.”
“No, I’m right. I saw the knife in Ocean City, long before you did. It’s losing its color. Come on, Vad, tell her I’m right. You’re the one who said you can tell the wearer’s health by the stone’s color, didn’t you? Well, it’s changed! Why deny it?”
“And if it is changing? I feel quite capable.”
“Really? How’s your sword arm?”
“I have no sword!” There was a tightness about his eyes, a pain she knew ran deep.
“Can you draw a bow?”
“Well enough.”
A burst of fear churned in Gwen’s stomach. “Vad, I’m afraid. Can’t we think of some alternative to direct confrontation?”
Vad shook his head. “We must do whatever is necessary.”
Ardra drew near. The reeking smoke from her torch filled the air with its pungent odor. “You are truly a man of honor, Vad, not to abandon us. A man of great kindness.” She dropped into a deep curtsy.
Gwen said. “What if you went to the council and reported what Narfrom has done, revealed the kidnapping plot. Won’t the councilors look more favorably on you if you not only give them the dagger and map, but also Narfrom’s plot?”
Vad and Ardra exchanged glances.
“Okay.” Gwen bit out the word. Her head was beginning to pound. “What’s going on? What did I miss?”
“You may say you know Tolemac,” Vad said, “but you are sadly lacking in an understanding of the rites of punishment and retribution. First, if we report the kidnapping, each councilor whose daughter was taken becomes suspect from that moment on. They might lose their positions, forfeit two, possibly three of their arm rings—”
Gwen interrupted him. “Are you saying that a little arm jewelry is more important than the safety of a daughter?”
Ardra gasped. “Arm rings are not jewelry,” she cried. “They mark one’s place, separate the outcasts from those who are permitted to walk among good society.”
“It is as Ardra says. In addition, if I do as you ask, Gwen, Ruonail will be hunted down along with Narfrom, and when caught, as he surely will be, his head will be severed from his body and piked on the fortress wall for all to see and revile.”
Within the shadows of her white hood, Ardra’s face looked ivory pale. Her lips trembled.
“I’m so sorry,” Gwen said. Her stomach churned a bit at the grisly image Vad painted.
“We will do as we planned.” Vad swept an arm out for Ardra to continue leading them forward.
“What did ‘we’ plan?” Gwen looked from Vad’s face to Ardra’s. Neither spoke. Whatever their plans, she was not privy to them. “Let me guess. You two have decided to solve this little maiden problem quietly so no one knows of anyone’s treachery. Vad returns the maidens safely, and the councilors won’t say a word because it would cause them shame and the loss of their arm rings. Ruonail isn’t going to complain or his crime is revealed. The only wild card is Narfrom.”
Gwen watched Vad and Ardra communicate with another silent glance. She felt like the proverbial third wheel. She also felt a chill deep within her that had nothing to do with ancient stone or vast fields of ice. “You have to listen to me.” She grabbed Vad’s belt and hauled him around until he was facing her. “I have this terrible feeling, deep inside here.” She touched her chest. “I just know the changing color of your knife means something awful is going to happen. We have to leave—now.”
Ardra wrung her hands. “I beg of you, Vad. Do not pay her any heed. I…the maidens need you.”
His expression softened at Ardra’s words, and he clasped her hands to still their distraught motions. “Be at peace.
I have pledged to do my best to save the maidens.”
Ardra turned to Gwen. “Will you help us free the maidens and prove that Narfrom has enchanted my father? If we can prove such a thing, then—”
“Wait,” Gwen said. “First we were just going to rescue these girls. Now we’re proving that Narfrom enchanted your father? That wasn’t in the bargain.” Vad shifted his bows from his injured arm to the uninjured one. “I see. So you two didn’t feel you had to consult me?”
“A slave?” Ardra said.
Gwen felt the heat rush into her face. Useless one moment, unconsulted the next. “I am not a slave!”
Vad hoisted the two bows higher on his shoulder. “There is no slavery beyond the ice fields, Ardra.” But Vad’s rebuke was mildly spoken, said almost in an unthinking, automatic manner.
“So let me understand this.” Gwen could not let it go. “You two were making decisions that involved life-and-death situations and didn’t feel you needed to include me.” She spoke to both of them, but looked only at Vad. He didn’t speak. His gaze met hers squarely. “It’s a trust issue, isn’t it? You don’t trust me.”
“You withheld the dagger.”
She wanted to howl at the unfairness of it. “I didn’t know you were being serious. How could I have known Tolemac really existed? It was just a game to me.”
He dropped his bundles and clamped his hands on her shoulders. “This is not Ocean City. Peace or not, there is little love lost between Tolemac and the Selaw. Here, without arm rings, you are a slave. If Ardra’s men had killed me and taken you, they’d have used you until they were sated.” Ardra made a mew of protest. “Say nothing, Ardra; she must understand her place here.” He returned his attention to Gwen. His intent blue gaze held her frozen in place. “You know I speak the truth. Wherever those men were bound, if you had slowed them down, they would have killed you, but more likely they would have seen what is apparent for all to see—a lush woman worth a hefty purse of gold at the slave sales. If you protested your fate too loudly, they’d have cut out your tongue. To mark you as sold they would have carved an X on your breast. A man can tell how many exchanges a slave has had by those scars. The purity of your skin would have made your value immense.” She trembled against his hands. “‘Tis not a game you are playing.”
Tears burned in her eyes. A huge lump that felt like undigested taffy filled her throat. The picture he painted was as cold as the ice outside. Yet it was not the prospect of some man’s mistreatment of her that hurt. It was his lack of trust.
Abruptly Vad released her and shouldered his bows once again. “It is time to move forward. Go with us, or not. Choose.”
“Come,” Ardra said, raising her torch and hastily lifting the latch on an arched wooden door strapped in iron. In silence, they passed through, Gwen last. Behind her, Ardra closed the door with a solid clunk of metal that seemed like a death knell to Gwen.
Vad did not trust her, had not consulted her on his plans, and worse, she had slept with him. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she impatiently swiped them away with the back of her sleeve. Think only about those seven girls, she chastised herself. You don’t want a man’s…what? Trust? Respect? Love?
Angry as she was, she found herself checking the handle of his knife where it rested against his side. Was it her imagination that the color had dulled? Was she just looking for excuses to avoid this confrontation with Ruonail?
She didn’t know what it was she wanted—or thought—anymore. But she did know what she didn’t want—her heart broken. “Funny,” she whispered to herself, “this feels oddly like heartache.”
Vad felt sweat trickle down the center of his back. The massive stone fortress above them seemed to press down on him. For a few yards there was nothing save walls of solid rock—close, solid rock. Then another arched wooden door, built for men much shorter than he, was before them. Although smaller than the first door, it had huge straps with iron bolts and a bar. Ardra lifted it and pulled open the door. Another corridor stretched before them, lit with torches in iron brackets, obviously not a secret place. An eddy of cold, musty air twisted about his legs.
He could hear the whisper of Gwen’s soft leather boots behind him. Regret at her misery could not color his decisions. He certainly regretted telling her of the stone’s ability to predict one’s health. The stone was changed. Each time he honed the edge of the knife, he saw how the tones were subtly altering. Perhaps Ardra’s healer would have what he needed to treat his wound, but if not, he must push past the pain as he must push past Gwen’s objections. Once committed to Ardra’s aid, he could not allow womanly feelings or emotions to influence him.
From the moment of his being found abandoned on Nilrem’s Hart Fell as a child, he’d been taught one thing only—to be a warrior. A man devoted, heart and soul, to honor.
Now, faced with his own disgrace, he knew redemption could come only if he proved himself worthy again. But that proof must wait until the maidens were rescued. Truly women were a constant trial—from those of only eight conjunctions to those who had lifemated.
Ardra turned and addressed them in a hesitant manner. He must reassure her that he intended to help her in any way he could. Gwen’s words had undermined Ardra’s stately confidence.
“Here,” Ardra said, “we begin to make our journey in secret. There are many doors in the caves. Some are known, such as this one, and will lead you straight into the upper reaches of the fortress. Follow me.” She led the way along the stone corridor, pointing left and right to doors as she passed them. “Some open to a wall of rock, some to twisting corridors that go to blank walls, other caverns, or beautiful grottoes.”
“Why aren’t there any guards?” Gwen asked.
“Guards are unnecessary,” Ardra patiently explained. “If you climb any steps, enter any room in the fortress, there are guards aplenty. Why have them stand in a cold place, bored and alone?”
“Because someone might kidnap you and coerce you to take them into the fortress? Say two people disguised as Blind Eye and Greasy Hair?” Gwen suggested.
Ardra smiled. “I gave the men a signal. You need not know it. It is a secret sign, and if I had not given it, you would be dead.”
“I see,” Gwen said, but Vad doubted she did. Still, he thought it better she ask questions when in doubt than make a blunder later.
After several moments of heavy silence, Ardra continued. “Once, in ancient times, men and women worshiped at the hot springs that flow from the earth beneath the fortress. It was a privilege to bathe in the healing waters. Now no one believes in the ancient gods or the water’s power, so only my father and I know the ways of the labyrinth.”
“Are the waters still here?” Gwen asked. At Ardra’s nod, she continued. “Maybe Vad could bathe his arm.” She spoke without her usual confidence, almost hesitantly, he thought. Perhaps she feared being spurned again.
“If it will offer you some measure of comfort, I will do so,” he said. Then he became aware of a low, continuous rumble in the distance. It penetrated the rough stone walls. He thought of a herd of dragons, thundering to annihilate them. He liked a nest of dragons as little as he liked a dark place.
“What’s that noise?” Gwen gave voice to his thoughts.
“The Eternal Falls,” Ardra said. “They spring from the very rock and disappear into a bottomless pit.”
“Great. A bottomless pit. Is that where you cast your worthless slaves?”
Vad gave a quick shake of the head when Ardra would have issued a reprimand. He thought it best to ignore Gwen’s mutterings. He recognized the sharp words as her way of dealing with fear or disappointment. From then on, the thunder of the falls grew louder as they paced wordlessly along corridors and through doors, twisting and turning in a dizzying maze.
The cavern in which Ardra finally stopped was as different from the fortress entrance as night was from day. It contained four identical doors. “Pick a door,” Ardra said, a touch of amusement in her voice.
Gwen pointed to the second door. Ardra swung it open to reveal a blank stone wall. Again and again, Gwen pointed. Each time the door revealed the same stark stone.
“What’s the trick?” he asked. “We are tired and do not need a puzzle to solve.”
“Gee, your awareness training must be wearing off. You’re getting testy,” Gwen said.
“Forgive me. I did not mean to trifle with you. Gwen chose well the first time.” Ardra opened the second door very slowly this time. As she did so, the stone wall behind it angled toward them. He ran his hand over it. It was simply an inner door with a thin layer of stone attached to it. He thought the ruse might not bear close scrutiny, but was effective for a quick look.
Ardra interrupted his thoughts. “Each door has the same inner door faced with stone, but the others lead to blank walls.” She lifted her torch after securing the door, and they trudged after her into another twisting corridor, this one sloping downward.
“Does this journey have an end?” he asked, then gasped. The corridor opened into a large, circular cavern. In the light of Ardra’s waning torch, he saw a many-colored room of ice. No, not ice. Sheer, almost transparent stone. Quickly Ardra moved about the cavern, touching her torch to others in brackets on the wall.
The rocky walls were striated in the tones of the Tolemac sky, sacred stones, and ice. Dripstones in the same colors stood about a large pool of steaming lavender water like sentries guarding a treasure. A vague scent of moss and age came to him. A memory teased at the periphery of his consciousness—another pool, sand between his toes—but Ardra’s words sent it slipping away.
“You will find steps cut into the side of the pool, just here.” Ardra indicated a spot where centuries of feet had worn a path to the edge of the water. “It is not very deep, but the bottom is smooth and sandy, so avail yourselves of it without fear. ‘Tis said that in ancient times spirits abided here. The stones—the blue-green, the lavender—are sacred and impart their properties to the waters. Perhaps if you bathe your arm, it will be cured.”