When Dhal failed to respond, the captain slapped him across the mouth. His eyes watered from the blow but he did not make a sound.
The captain turned and walked over to Haradan. “You made a mistake by reacting as you did. So did your son. He is your son, isn’t he?”
Haradan shook his head. “No,” he said, avoiding Dhal’s eyes. “Only a friend. He came visiting when he heard I had returned from Annaroth.”
Captain Mlar smiled unpleasantly. “I think you are a liar, Haradan sar Nath. We followed you out of Annaroth and know you’ve been home only a few short hours. With all of your neighbors so far away, I doubt anyone knows of your return.”
Haradan stood silent.
“You intend to be difficult. Well, no matter, there are others who can tell me what I want to know.” Turning to his men he nodded. “Bring him in.”
Captain Mlar’s men moved aside and through their ranks shambled a small, stooped man. One look and Dhal knew who is was, though he had seen him only twice in his lifetime: Gragdar the Silent, an old trapper who sold the meat and hides of deepland animals to anyone with money enough to buy. Gragdar was said to be drogo, a man who controlled spirits of the dead. Many believed that Gragdar’s ill wish could bring disease or death. Haradan had taught Dhal that such claims were nonsense, that men such as Gragdar used superstition to their own benefit, gaining power over others through fear.
Bearded, dirty, unkempt, Gragdar moved into the room, his dark eyes glittering. An overpowering smell of decay wafted toward Dhal as the old man stopped several paces away.
“Do you know the man before you, Gragdar?” Captain Mlar asked, carefully maintaining his distance from the old man.
Gragdar nodded. “He is called Dhalvad sar Haradan.”
The captain turned to Haradan. “Do you still deny him, sar Nath?”
Haradan shrugged, “Does it matter? You came to arrest me. Arrest me and have done with it.”
“Oh, but we did not come to arrest you alone. Your son is also wanted.”
“But he has done nothing wrong! He wasn’t even with me in Annaroth. If I broke one of your laws, I should be punished, not him!”
“Silence! It wasn’t something you did in Annaroth, as you well know, but something your son did in Drimdor.”
Haradan shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
Dhal could not help but admire the way Haradan was playing his part. As the captain continued speaking, Dhal realized with a sense of helplessness that Haradan had been right. Healing the child had been a mistake.
“Some days ago a certain rumor reached the regent’s ear, a rumor stating that a healer had appeared in Drimdor, a healer with the most extraordinary powers. One of the regent’s men was sent to investigate. When he returned, he brought this man with him.” Turning to the old man, the captain said, “Tell sar Nath what you saw in Drimdor, trapper.”
Gragdar’s gaze fastened on Dhal. “I saw him working magic. His hands were red with the child’s blood!” Gragdar’s upper lip raised in a grimace of loathing; his voice changed to a whine. “He healed, then stole what was not his to take. Ni-lach filth! Stealer of souls, he is! Not fit to live!”
Suddenly Gragdar lunged forward, something shiny glinting in his hand. But the captain had been waiting for just such a move. Slamming his fist down across Gragdar’s arm, Captain Mlar caught the trapper about the shoulders and whirled him around, then let go and kicked the old man in the buttocks, sending him sprawling onto the floor under the table.
Captain Mlar signaled to two of his men. “Watch him!”
After straightening his harness, the captain turned and looked at Dhal. “Well,” he said softly, “are you what he says you are, Dhalvad sar Haradan?”
Dhal glanced at Haradan. The shake of his head was barely perceptible, but it was enough. “I’m a wilder, Captain. Just because I’m versed in herbs and medicines and know how to staunch the flow of blood doesn’t mean that I’m Ni-lach.”
Haradan spoke up. “Gragdar is an old man, Captain. His wits are addled after all the years he’s spent in the Deep. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about half the time. Ask others! They’ll tell you what kind of a man he is!”
“But he is not our only witness, sar Nath. There were several others who saw your son work his ‘miracle healing,’ and it wasn’t simply a matter of staunching a wound. The child’s arm was severed. Severed! No physician, no matter how clever, could repair such a wound. A good physician might have saved the child’s life by cauterizing the stump of the arm, but no man—no man—could have saved both boy and arm!”
Captain Mlar looked down at Gragdar, who sat where he had fallen, one of the guards standing over him. “That old man may be insane, sar Nath, but I think not. For one thing, he was the only man in Drimdor who would lead us into the Deep to find your home. That he succeeded in doing so tells me that his mind is not entirely gone. He’s dirty, he stinks, and he has a foul mouth, but his attack on your son speaks for itself. He believes what he told us is the truth! And that truth must be tested.”
There was silence in the room following the captain’s statement. All eyes were turned to Dhal, as if he were some swamp monster caught in a net. Dhal noticed that the two men holding his arms had both managed to sidle a half step away, as if they might become contaminated by his very nearness.
Dhal looked to Haradan, and saw no fear there, no hate, only frustration and a sign that Dhal should admit nothing.
But Dhal was not the only one watching. Captain Mlar turned and walked over to stand before Haradan. Though the two men were equal in height, Haradan’s broader shoulders gave him the appearance of greater size. “I saw your frown, sar Nath. You warn your son to silence, yes? No matter. There are ways of getting him to admit his bloodlines. We thought it might come to this. As you know, a man’s word cannot be trusted, but his actions seldom lie. The regent decided upon a little test. When the test is over I shall make a judgment as to whether or not your son is Ni-lach.”
“And then?” Haradan asked.
The captain raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Dhal. “If he passes the test, he goes with us to Annaroth. If he fails, he is welcome to stay here for the rest of his life.”
Haradan frowned. “What is this test?”
“This!” The captain swung around, his movement controlled. Dhal saw the captain’s knife sink deep into Haradan’s stomach. Haradan screamed only once, then he was fighting for breath. The two men who held him laid him down on the floor. With icy calm, the captain withdrew the knife and stepped back.
Dhal struggled between the two men who held his arms. “Let me go!”
The captain nodded. “Release him.”
The two men obeyed so quickly that Dhal fell to his hands and knees in his haste to reach Haradan. The captain stepped back as he pushed past his legs.
Haradan lay on his side, knees up, clutching his stomach. His eyes were open. Dhal touched him. “Haradan. Haradan.”
“No!” his foster father hissed. “Leave me alone!”
Dhal thought it was only pain talking and ignored ins protests. Only later would he remember Haradan’s refusal of help and the soft words of Captain Mlar: “Heal him at your own peril, Green One.”
Reaching out, Dhal touched Haradan’s forehead, numbing the pain center in the brain. Several seconds later Haradan’s body relaxed. Quickly Dhal pulled Haradan’s tunic up and out of the way. After he pushed Haradan’s hands aside, he untied the leather thongs at the top of his pants and pulled them down to expose the wound. It was deep and welling blood. Laying both hands over the bleeding hole, Dhal closed his mind to all save the healing power that allowed him to enter a broken body and mend.
Awareness came, the seeing of the damaged tissue, the layers of fat and muscle, the torn blood vessels. He began to work, picturing everything in his mind, not as it was but as it should be. Slowing the blood flow was essential. That accomplished, he envisioned the torn blood vessels as whole, then went on to repair the severe
d muscle and the slit in the coils of intestine. Slowly, carefully, he mended the wound, his hands glowing with a green aura created by the outpouring of energy.
At last he reached the outer layers of skin where Haradan’s blood had spilled freely those first few moments. Directed by his will, the layers of tissue pulled together and held, interlocking cell with cell. A minute later Dhal sank back on his heels, his task completed. Where the knife had entered, the skin was now smooth, though still slick with blood. He could hear the murmur of voices above and behind him, but they were no more than whispers in his mind. As he looked down at his hands, red with Haradan’s blood, a wave of darkness threatened.
He shook his head, trying to stay awake. Healing used vast amounts of energy from within. Dhal felt himself slipping away and knew it was useless to resist. Both mind and body demanded rest. The last he remembered was hearing the old man’s voice.
“Kill him, Captain. Kill him while you have the chance, else all will be changed for mankind on Ver-draak.”
Chapter 4
DHAL WOKE TO A SWAYING MOTION. FOR LONG MOMENTS HE LAY still, trying to fit the movement into some remembered pattern. Then he heard a swishing noise, and the sounds made by man or animal as they walked through tall grass.
He opened his eyes, full awareness returning. He was being carried in some kind of litter. Ahead of him he could see the head and shoulders of a man, one of the Sarissa Guard who had invaded Haradan’s cabin. When he tried to sit up he discovered that he was securely lashed to a makeshift stretcher formed of two stout branches and several blankets.
He lay still, remembering: Gi-arobi and the baby draak; Haradan’s confession; the ring; Captain Mlar and the testing. He remembered it all, though at that moment it seemed more dream than reality.
The green of open sky above was deepening. Ra-gar was nearing the western horizon. Soon it would be night. How long have I been unconscious? he wondered. Certainly no longer than a few hours.
He heard voices coming from behind him and thought of Haradan. Was he there or had they left him behind? The thought that he might be alone among enemies filled him with panic. “Haradan! Haradan!”
The men carrying the litter came to an abrupt halt. “He’s awake, Captain,” one of the men announced. There was a slight bump as Dhal was lowered to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Captain Mlar snapped, coming up from behind.
“The Green One is awake.”
“So?”
“I thought—we thought you would like to speak with him, sir,” the man stammered.
“Later. Pick him up again and let’s get moving. Gragdar says there’s a camping spot about fifteen minutes ahead, a clearing. I want to get there before its completely dark.”
As the two men bent to pick him up, Dhal called out once more. He had to know if Haradan was there. “Haradan, can you hear me?”
“Here, Dhal!” came a quick reply from somewhere behind him.
Haradan’s response was followed by the sound of flesh striking flesh. “Silence! You will not speak to him!”
The moment of relief he had felt at the sound of Haradan’s voice instantly turned to anger. The Sarissa were known for their brutality. That they should strike Haradan for so simple a crime as answering his call was a signal to him that he and Haradan had become something less than slaves.
Twenty minutes later Captain Mlar called for a halt. Gragdar had located the promised campsite. While some of the men began clearing away brush, others gathered dry wood for a fire. Left in the center of the clearing under the watchful eyes of four guards, Haradan and Dhal took the opportunity to talk, their whispered voices drowned out by the sounds of the other men moving around.
“How are you feeling, Dhal?”
Dhal was lying at such an angle that he was just able to see Haradan’s face in the early-evening light. Sitting with his head bent slightly forward and down, the movement of Haradan’s lips was hidden in shadow. “I’m fine,” Dhal replied softly. “You?”
“I’m alive, thanks to you. For years I’ve watched you heal your animal friends and I knew you had the power, but not until I looked down at the place where the captain drove his knife in did I really begin to understand the value of your gift. I realize now that such power is wasted in the Deep, that I should’ve taken you to Letsia or some other place where you might have had a chance to live in peace and use your gift where it would be appreciated. But then, I never had the money for passage, and the only overland route goes through the Mountains of the Lost and it has been years since anyone has even attempted that route.”
“You did the best you could, Haradan. I love the Deep. It was a good home. I’m sorry I brought all of this trouble to you. If I had obeyed you, no one would have known about my being Ni-lach.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Dhal. It would’ve happened eventually. Hsst! Someone comes this way.”
Captain Mlar approached with four of his men. While three stood guard, Dhal was released from the litter and allowed to stand and walk a few times around the fire, then he was taken back to sit beside Haradan. After a few more minutes of freedom, Dhal’s arms were drawn behind his back and tied. Ropes also bound his ankles.
During the brief time his hands were free, he noticed that something was missing. “The ring you gave me is gone, Haradan,” he whispered.
“I took it,” Haradan answered quietly. “Before they tied you onto the litter, they let me wash the blood from your hands. I took the ring before anyone else could.”
“You have it with you?”
“No, I think your little friend might have it now. I saw him hiding under one of the chairs near where you lay. I slipped the ring under the chair when everyone was busy getting you ready to travel. But if he didn’t take it, it’ll be safely hidden under that chair.”
Silently Dhal agreed; yet he was sorry to have been so quickly parted from the strange and beautiful fire ring. He looked around the camp and saw the men beginning to settle down to sleep. “The open sky tells me we’ve left the Deep. Where do they take us?”
“Annaroth.”
“What will they do to us?”
There was no response. Haradan was sitting very still.
“Haradan?”
“You ask a question I can’t answer, Dhal. Captain Mlar has named me a traitor. He claims that by sheltering you all these years I have acted against Regent Lasca and his government. The last I knew, anyone judged a traitor by Sarissa law was publicly executed.” Haradan paused, his eyes sliding away. “As for you, much will depend upon the regent and how he looks upon one of your race. The time of war is long past, but the superstitious fear of Ni-lach magic that started it all still exists.”
Haradan shook his head. “Your gift of healing may be natural to you, but to most men it appears as no less than magic. Good magic, I’ll grant, but still magic, and to the Sarissa magic means evil. Of course it’s entirely possible that the regent wants you for other purposes. Long before the war some of your people aided the Sarissa with their special talents. Perhaps Regent Lasca would have you healing those people his own physicians are unable to help, but—”
“You don’t think so,” Dhal finished for him.
Their eyes met. This was no time for comforting lies. “No, Dhal.” Haradan said softly, “I fear yours will not be so kind a fate.”
The night was short, as were most nights on Ver-draak, five hours out of thirty during the summer months, ten during the cold passage. As the first light of day touched the sky, Haradan and Dhal were roused from sleep and given a drink of water. A little while later one of the captain’s men came over and offered them each a piece of cheese and a hard roll that had been warmed by the morning fire.
When Dhal asked to be released so he might feed himself, the man shook his head and held a roll to Dhal’s mouth. The thought of feeding from Sarissa hands brought a flush of heat to Dhal’s face, but before he could refuse the offering, he saw Haradan.
Swallowing his pride and
his anger, Dhal took a bite of the bread, carefully avoiding the man’s eyes. The bread was tough and took some chewing, but it helped to fill the empty place in his stomach.
Soon the captain ordered the men to prepare to leave. Thoughts of escape were in both their minds as Haradan and Dhal were freed from the ropes about their legs and helped to stand. But Captain Mlar was not about to give them any chance of escape. After ropes were tied about their chests and arms, another rope was fastened about their necks linking them together in such a way that should one misstep, he would pull the other off balance.
They reached the outskirts of Drimdor early in the afternoon. News of their arrival had preceded them. Drimdor, not a large village, had no more than sixty inhabitants. Because it was the middle of the day, a time when most of the people would usually be out working in the fields, it was a surprise to find so many villagers on the main street.
As the Sarissa and their prisoners passed down between the one-story wood buildings that lined both sides of the main road, Dhal became aware of the silence among the people. Several of the men he recognized, but most he did not, as his trips to Drimdor had been few. Remembering his last trip to the village with Xarlan, Dhal wished that he had never left his greenland home.
Dhal caught Haradan nodding to a man and woman standing just within a doorway to a small inn. The woman’s hair was white gold, denoting not age but Letsian bloodlines. The man was tall and broad shouldered. His light-brown hair was rumpled, as if he had just been roused from sleep, but the sharp, steady look he gave Captain Mlar as the Sarissa Guard passed told Dhal that the man was alert and fully aware of what was going on before him.
Dhal believed that Captain Mlar had planned on resting in Drimdor for a few hours before moving on but that something in the attitude of the swamp farmers had made him change his mind. For a moment or two Dhal thought the farmers were there just out of curiosity, to see the Ni-lach captive taken from the Deep, but the eyes that followed their progress down the dirt road were more on the captain and his men than on his prisoners. Dhal wondered what had stirred the Drimdorians from their work.
Where The Ni-Lach Page 4