Shaking his head, Haradan’s voice softened. “Something ran at me. I didn’t even see it, I just reacted. I killed a little girl—she couldn’t have been more than eight. I felt others brush by me but all I could do was stand and stare at the child I had butchered. It didn’t matter that her hair was green or her skin lighter than my own. All I could see were her small hands lying upward in the grass, her gray eyes looking up, unseeing. I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing I knew I was standing with a group of men, all strangers. They were pointing to a clump of bushes just ahead.
“Suddenly two adult Ni burst into sight, a man and woman. Behind them ran a youth. Each of the adults carried a child. When the male realized that they couldn’t outrun the men who followed, he set the child down and pushed it away. Then, seizing a branch, he turned and ran at us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the youth pick the child up and run on beside his mother. The Ni male fought like a demon, but a branch is little protection against swords and it was only moments before they had cut him down.”
Haradan drew a shaky breath, his eyes lowered. “I watched and did nothing. By that time I was totally numb inside. I walked without knowing where I was going. After a while the numbness gave way to shame and anger. The Sarissa were doing wrong. There was no excuse good enough to make war on children, no matter the color of their hair or eyes! I turned around and started back, meaning to go home, but then I came upon two Ni children who had escaped. One was the youth I had seen before—and you, Dhal, were the other, no more than a babe. I stayed with the two of you the rest of the day. When night came I took you back to the river. My plans to return to the Sadil docks were put aside. I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourselves, not with the Sarissa army still hunting for stragglers. After dark I swam the river with the two of you in tow.
“Once assured that I meant you no harm, your brother was of enormous help. He kept an eye on you all the time I was gathering wood and vine for our shelter and, as the days passed, he helped teach me what roots, plants, and berries were edible. Though I was older than him by twenty years, it was he who was the teacher, for the river and the forest had been his domain, not mine.”
“What was my brother’s name?” Dhal asked softly.
“He called himself Bhaldavin.”
“You haven’t said what happened to him.”
Haradan hesitated. “I don’t know. One night he was here, the next morning he was gone. I looked for him but I never found him. Nor did I hear of any Ni-lach being caught or killed in the days following his disappearance. So far as I know he still lives, unless he fell prey to gensvolf or draak, and I think that highly unlikely. He was fast on his feet and he knew the ways of the forest. I thought about him a lot at first, wondering why he left, wondering if I had done or said something that had upset him or driven him away.” Haradan shook his head. “His going has remained a mystery to me, one that I will probably never solve.”
Haradan looked around the room. “Bhaldavin helped me build a walled-in platform in this tree. I enlarged that platform year after year until it is what you see now. It’s a good home. It was then and it is now. I hate the thought of leaving it, but leave it we must. When you were small it was easy to hide you, but as you grew and some of the other wilders found us and came visiting I was forced to disguise you as best I could. I didn’t do it because I hated your people, Dhal, or because I wanted you to be different than you were. I did it because I wanted to protect you from the fear I still see in anyone’s face when the Ni-lach are mentioned.”
Chapter 3
DHAL LAY STILL. ALL OF HIS SENSES LOCKED INTO HARADAN’S words. A hundred questions came to mind but before he could voice even one, Haradan turned in his chair and reached for the top drawer once more. “One more thing,” he said, pulling out a small wooden box the size of his fist.
Dhal had seen the box many times and had more than once asked Haradan what was inside. Always the answer had been the same: “A secret that will one day be yours, when you are old enough.” Dhal had despaired of ever learning the contents of that box.
Haradan reached into the lacings of his tunic and withdrew the light chain he always wore around his neck. On the chain there were two keys. One was to the special herb chest out in the main room, the other fit the small wooden box.
Dhal watched as Haradan slipped the key into place. He heard the click of the lock. Curiosity got the better of him and he leaned forward—and gasped as Haradan revealed what had been hidden for so long. In the middle of the box was a heavy gold ring. It was a piece of master craftsmanship. The intricately woven filigree formed a birdwing setting around a magnificent green stone the size of a thumbnail.
Dhal reached out without thinking, but Haradan pulled the box away. “The ring belonged to your father. Bhaldavin retrieved it from his body on our way back to the river. The morning he left I found the ring tied about your neck on a leather thong. I’ve kept it safe for you all these years, waiting for the right moment. That moment is now.”
Haradan took the ring from the box and placed it in Dhal’s hand. “It’s yours now. Guard it well. Not only is it a gift from your brother, but it would bring you a goodly sum should you ever decide to sell it. It’s a beautiful example of Ni-lach artistry, something that is no longer seen anywhere in the lands of the Enzaar Sea.” Sensing Dhal’s need to think things over, Haradan left him and went into the other room to prepare supper.
As Dhal listened to Haradan move about, he gazed at the ring and thought over all he had been told. A movement at his shoulder reminded him of Gi-arobi. He turned and looked at the olvaar, for a moment fearing what he might see in his eyes. Would Gi look upon him as one of the dreaded Ni-lach?
Gi leaned over and patted his chest. “Dhal feel better?”
“Yes, Gi, I feel fine. Gi, does it bother you that I am Ni-lach?”
A thrumming noise erupted from Gi’s throat. “Gi knew.”
Surprised, Dhal sat up, almost throwing Gi off balance. “You knew I was Ni-lach?”
“Gi knows. Lar-aval knows. Funny Dhal not know.”
Dhal shook his head. “If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Gi-arobi is olvaar. Dhal is Ni-lach. Why say what is? Can see ring, please?”
Bemused by such logic, Dhal held the ring so Gi could look it over. A moment later the olvaar whistled excitedly.
“Slow down,” Dhal said, unable to follow the speed of the olvaar’s whistle clicks.
“Fire ring, Dhal! See!”
“Fire ring?” The expression was unfamiliar. Holding the ring close to his eyes, he turned it from side to side, not sure what he was looking for. Then he saw it, a wink of light, golden orange.
“Dhal see?” Gi pressed, leaning over Dhal’s arm.
“I saw something, but now it’s gone.” He moved the ring back and forth slowly, trying to find the light once more. “There! There it is! I see it. It’s like fire. It’s almost as if there’s a crack in the stone.”
Dhal rubbed his finger across the surface of the stone, searching for the flaw that had to be there. But the stone was smooth and unbroken. Holding the ring firmly, he peered again into the center of the stone. A moment later he felt a shiver of excitement. “Look, Gi, there it is!”
When Gi-arobi’s furry head pushed close, Dhal’s view was blocked, but somehow he managed to stifle the urge to pull the ring away. “Do you see it, Gi?”
“See fire, Dhal.”
“Look deeper, past the gold.”
Gi was silent for a moment or two, then his head jerked back, as if he had been startled by something.
“Did you see it, Gi?”
Gi-arobi nodded, his golden eyes fastened on Dhal’s. “Fire draak inside stone, Dhal. Makes Gi cold and warm together. Gi think ring spirit be very strong.”
Fire draak? Dhal knew of blue draak and green, but what was a fire draak? Gi spoke of a ring spirit. Were the words “fire draak” Gi’s way of expressing a spiritual essence, or did he m
ean something else? There were times when Gi’s translation from olvaar to trader left one guessing.
Dhal examined the filigree that surrounded the stone. There seemed to be a pattern to it, yet the moment his eyes caught the pattern it would waver and disappear. But the setting, though beautiful, couldn’t hold his attention for long, and he turned once more to the stone. Holding the ring so the candlelight fell full on the stone, Dhal moved it back and forth ever so slightly. “There!”
Minutes passed as he watched the shifting currents of golden light. Just beneath the light appeared a myriad of shadow forms that would not hold still long enough for him to name them. He felt both delighted and frustrated.
Ring spirits, Dhal thought silently, be still. Let me see you, let me know the secrets of your tiny world. Gi has named you and I would know the meaning behind his words.
Dhal was not sure how long he watched the interplay of light and shadow, but suddenly he noticed a subtle change in the colors. The golds and oranges faded, to be replaced by cooler colors such as blues and greens. The next moment Dhal was looking through a window into another world. He saw tree branches moving in the wind and the break of green sky above them. The head and shoulders of a man appeared in the scene. He was moving away. Beyond him rose a line of mountains, blue green in the distance. Dhal almost felt as if he could reach into the stone and touch the man he was watching.
Suddenly, the man stopped and turned to look behind him. With bated breath, Dhal watched the man retrace his steps, as if looking for some hidden menace in the bushes and trees surrounding him.
Though the man was half in shadows, Dhal saw his face clearly. He had high cheekbones, a longish nose, slightly winged eyebrows, and eyes that appeared dark one moment, light the next, as if the shadows that crossed his path were reflected back in his eyes. He had a different look about him. In that instant Dhal knew he was seeing one of his own people; his green hair was so dark that Dhal had taken it for black.
The Ni lifted his eyes, frowning. Dhal saw him shrug, as if suddenly chilled. In the next instant Dhal felt his own world tilt with a sickening lurch as the eyes of the Ni met his. He felt himself probed with such piercing intelligence that he actually flinched and, in doing so, lost sight of the invisible crack in the stone.
Drawing a shaky breath, Dhal became aware of the heavy beating of his heart, the tightness of muscles in arms, back, and neck. Forcing himself to relax, he took several deep breaths, all the while wondering who he had seen in the ring. A spirit perhaps?
“Dhal?”
He looked away from the ring and found Gi-arobi sitting quietly beside him, his golden eyes sober. Dhal shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the strange vision he had seen inside the ring stone.
“Dhal quiet long time,” Gi whistled softly. “What see in fire stone?”
“I’m not sure, Gi. I thought I saw a Ni. He had the strangest eyes. Even now I can feel them, pulling me back into the stone. I want to look again, but suddenly I’m afraid. I don’t know why. Gi, what do you know about these fire rings? What are they? Where do they come from? What I see inside the stone— is it real or only my imagination?”
The questions came too fast. Gi whistled for Dhal to stop.
“Sorry,” Dhal said.
Gi patted his arm in a show of understanding. “Gi not know how to answer Dhal. Fire rings belong to Ni-lach. They make. Legends say fire draak dwells in green stones. Guides Ni-lach. True? Not true? Only Ni-lach know. Gi look again?”
Dhal held the ring down to Gi’s eye level and watched as the olvaar moved the ring back and forth, searching for the light within the stone. A moment later Gi found the invisible crack. Dhal waited.
“Well?” he asked after a minute, unable to be patient any longer. “What do you see?”
Reluctantly Gi withdrew his gaze from the stone. “No see Ni with strange eyes, Dhal. See only sun colors. Make Gi feel warm inside.”
Dhal looked from Gi to the ring, wondering if he had dreamed it all.
Footsteps approached the doorway. Haradan poked his head into the room. “Ready to eat?”
“Yes.” Dhal decided he would try the ring again later. Slipping it onto his middle finger, right hand, he stood, picked up Gi-arobi, and followed Haradan into the other room.
Supper consisted of stew, hard bread, and a cup of strong rayil tea. Gi-arobi sat crosslegged on top of the table and drank the liquid portion of the stew out of a tiny spoonlike dipper that Dhal had made for him. When the liquid was gone, he ate the pieces of vegetables with his fingers. Gi was often a guest at their table, and Dhal and Haradan had accustomed themselves to his unusual table manners.
Meals were always a silent affair. When they finished eating, Haradan and Dhal usually carried their second cups of rayil out to the porch where they would sit and talk awhile. But this night Dhal knew it would be different.
From the glances Haradan sent his way, Dhal knew he wanted to talk. Dhal also had something he wanted to say, but finding the right words was another matter. Haradan had taken a great risk in harboring him all of these years. Not only had he saved Dhal’s life, but he had loved and protected him as if they were blood kin.
Haradan set his spoon down on the table and looked directly at Dhal. “Am I forgiven?” he asked softly.
“There is nothing to forgive, Haradan.”
“You understand why I acted as I did?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything you want to ask me about your people— or anything else?”
“Yes, there’s one question. What made you decide to keep me?”
“I suppose it was guilt at first, then a sense of responsibility.” Haradan paused, his dark eyes clinging to Dhal in a plea for understanding. “But somewhere along the way I came to love you, and that is something no man can fight. In truth, I didn’t put up much of a struggle. I needed you as much as you needed me.”
Haradan started to say something else but was interrupted by a whistle click from Gi-arobi. The olvaar’s head was turned toward the door leading out onto the porch. The sound of shuffling footsteps brought Haradan and Dhal to their feet.
“Stranger men, Dhal,” Gi piped up.
“What’s he saying?” Haradan snapped.
“Stranger men in the Deep,” Dhal explained quickly. “Lar-aval said he had seen men following your trail. With all that happened when I got home, I forgot!”
“Damn, I thought I’d lost them!” Haradan started for the door, then stopped and whirled around, his eyes narrowed in determination. “Get out of here, Dhal! Out the back window and down the vine.”
“But Haradan, what—”
“Move!” he hissed, shoving Dhal around the end of the table and toward their sleeping quarters. “It’s you they’ll want!”
Dhal turned to obey, trusting Haradan to know what was best, but he did not like the thought of leaving Haradan to face the strangers alone. Before he reached the bedroom, the front door banged open and armed men began pouring into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Dhal saw Gi jump down from the table and scurry behind one of the chairs in the unlighted portion of the room.
Caught in the middle of the floor, Haradan had no choice but to face the intruders squarely. Resting his hand on the hilt of his knife, he challenged them. “Hold where you are!” he bellowed. “What do you men do in my home?”
The indignation in Haradan’s voice caught the men by surprise. They stopped where they were, some already into the main room, others in the doorway and on the porch.
Though he had never seen the men before, Dhal recognized them as Sarissa; their tall brown boots and hip-length tunics were emblazoned with the seal of Annaroth. The thick leather chest harness each man wore served as protection against a cutting stroke by knife or sword blade.
“Who are you?” Haradan demanded. “And by what right do you enter my home without permission?”
For a moment there was silence. Then one of the men, bolder than the others, stepped forward. Hi
s courage reclaimed, the round-faced man spoke directly to Haradan. “I am Captain Mlar of the Third Sarissa Guard. I’m here under orders of Regent Lasca, who has issued orders for your arrest.”
“What are the charges?” Haradan demanded.
“You will be informed of the charges when you are returned to Annaroth,” the captain replied stiffly.
As several more men moved into the room, Dhal saw Haradan sign with his left hand, hidden behind his back. The waggle of his fingers told Dhal to get out.
Though he wanted to stay, to stand with Haradan, some inner sense warned him to obey. He took a half step toward the bedroom doorway, then another. No one seemed to notice.
Dhal was almost to the doorway when Captain Mlar snapped, “Stand where you are!”
“Run, Dhal!” Haradan yelled, then drew his knife and lunged toward the captain.
Dhal hesitated only a second, then, turning, bolted through the doorway into the bedroom. He crossed the room in five running steps, jumped onto Haradan’s bed, flicked up the two knobs that held the wooden grill in place, and was halfway through the window when a hand caught at the leg of his pants. He tried to kick free but in a moment other hands were grabbing him and he was roughly torn from his perch and pulled to the floor. Dhal fought to break free until four men sat atop him.
“Did you get him?” Captain Mlar shouted from the other room.
“Yes, sir!”
“Bring him back in here!”
Dhal was dragged to his feet and shoved back through the doorway into the main room. There he saw Haradan standing between two men, a knife at his throat. From the way his foster father was breathing, and the blood on his lips, Dhal could see he had put up a good fight before being subdued.
Dhal was brought to stand before the captain, where guards pinned his arms behind his back. “And where did you think you were going?” the captain asked.
Where The Ni-Lach Page 3