The captain’s men unconsciously closed ranks. Haradan and Dhal looked at each other. Haradan’s knowing smile told Dhal that he was well aware of the strange undercurrent of unrest passing through the people of Drimdor and that he saw good in that unrest.
One of the captain’s men passed by with hurried steps. “Sir,” he said, stopping at the captain’s side, “the old man is gone. He must have dropped out just as we entered the town.”
Captain Mlar nodded. “Never mind, we don’t need him any longer.”
“Sir, are we stopping here?”
“No, Amsa, we’ll go on. We have a good eight hours of daylight left. We can camp early and the men can rest then.”
“Sir, have you noticed the looks we’re getting? Something’s wrong here. They didn’t act this way before.”
“Perhaps that’s because they didn’t know our reason for coming before,” the captain answered without turning, “and now they do.”
“You think they resent our taking of the Ni-lach?”
“These are ignorant people, Amsa, primitive. Don’t even try to understand them. Our goal at this moment is to get the prisoners to Annaroth. When that is accomplished, I may just return to Drimdor with more men and teach these people a lesson in hospitality.” The captain watched both sides of the street as they neared the center of the village. “Amsa, tell the men to keep their eyes open and their hands to their swords.”
“Yes, sir.”
No one tried to stop them as they passed through the center of Drimdor. Their pace increased slightly. A smile broke the sternness of Haradan’s features. Dhal tried to share that amusement but found himself unable to do so. So the Drimdorians had frightened the Sarissa into passing right through their village. How did that help the prisoners?
Chapter 5
SIX HOURS AFTER LEAVING DRIMDOR, THE CAPTAIN CALLED a halt and a temporary camp was set up. Once again Dhal and Haradan were fed, given water, and allowed a few minutes of freedom from the ropes about their arms and chests. From conversations among the captain’s men, they learned that they were to reach the Sadil docks by late afternoon the following day. Several guards commented on the people of Drimdor, but a stern look from Captain Mlar silenced them.
With the coming of full darkness, Captain Mlar posted three guards and ordered that the watch be changed every two hours. When it came time to sleep, Haradan and Dhal were separated, allowing them no chance to talk or plan escape.
One of the men slapped at Dhal’s legs. “Turn around here,” he growled. Dhal obeyed, knowing the uselessness of fighting. The guard brought his rope out and began wrapping it around Dhal’s ankles. Jerking the rope tight, he knotted the cord until satisfied that Dhal couldn’t wiggle free.
Haradan and Dhal exchanged glances across the fire. Haradan’s nod was a sign not to give up hope.
Suddenly the men around the campfire were silent. Dhal looked up and saw three strangers walk out of the darkness into the firelight. He recognized one of the men instantly—he was the tall, broad-shouldered man who had been standing in the doorway of the inn.
Startled by the unexpected arrival of the Drimdorians, Captain Mlar and his men scrambled to their feet. But before any weapons could be drawn, the tall Drimdorian stepped forward holding out his hands palms up, signaling that he was unarmed and presenting no danger.
“Peace, Captain Mlar, we have only come to talk.”
“Who are you?” the captain demanded. “How did you get past my men?”
The Drimdorian looked at his two friends, then back to the captain. “We saw no men, sir. We must have missed each other in the darkness.”
“What is your name?”
“I am Thalt,” the tall man responded. “My friends and I come from Drimdor. We are here to ask a favor.”
“Favor be damned!” the captain snapped irritably. “You and your friends will find that…” Mlar’s voice dwindled away. There was movement in the shadows just beyond the firelight.
“You would be wise to order your men to put down their weapons, Captain Mlar,” Thalt said. “We far outnumber you, and unlike myself, those in the darkness are armed.”
As the Sarissa peered into the darkness surrounding them, the captain faced Thalt. “What do you want?”
“We want a friend returned to us,” Thalt answered quickly. “Haradan sar Nath is a good man. For years he has traded with us, and never once during that time has he taken advantage of our poverty. He has provided us with herbs and medicines at a quarter of the cost quoted by Sarissa merchants in Annaroth! Though he never lived among us, we think of him as friend, and so we can’t allow him to be taken away against his will. The laws of Annaroth are hard on a man who can’t prove pure Sarissa bloodlines. We fear there would be no justice for Haradan in your courts.”
“You are wrong, Thalt,” the captain argued, “about our courts and about the man you call friend! He is a traitor, to us and to you! For years he has harbored one of the Green Ones!”
“No,” Thalt snapped back. “Not harbored! That word is wrong. Haradan took pity on a child, a foundling who had no family. You cannot condemn a man for having a heart!”
Captain Mlar shook his head. “You don’t understand the danger the Ni represents! There’s no telling what powers lay dormant in the Green One. We’re just lucky that we discovered him before he had time to do great harm to your people!”
Thalt looked at Dhal for a moment. “I don’t follow your reasoning, Captain. Not once has Dhalvad done any wrong in Drimdor. On the contrary, he saved a child’s life.”
Dhal heard the mutter of voices. The captain and his men stirred uneasily.
Unconsciously Dhal strained against the ropes that held him. He did not like the thought of being caught in the middle of a battle between the Drimdorians and the Sarissa Guard when he could not move to protect himself. He saw Haradan get to his knees.
“Give us Haradan sar Nath, Captain,” Thalt said, “or else we will be forced to take him from you.”
The captain hesitated just a moment too long. Haradan was on his feet and moving. In five strides he had passed two of the captain’s men. Before they could recover and attempt to block his passage, he had passed Captain Mlar. Six more strides and he was standing before Thalt. Arms bound tight to his sides, Haradan turned to look at the captain, a wide grin on his face.
Thalt barely held back his own smile as he addressed the captain. “You were wise in your choice, sir. I’m glad that this didn’t come to bloodshed, for we are a gentle folk and do not take kindly to warfare.”
The captain was on the defensive. Angered by the turn of events and the sudden loss of one of his prisoners, he glared at the swamp farmers. “You don’t fool me, Thalt! You”—the captain looked out into the darkness—“all of you would like nothing more than to spill Sarissa blood! Only you dare not! When the regent hears what you’ve done here, he’ll send an entire regiment to Drimdor and what you call home shall be home for you no longer! Drimdor will be—”
“Enough of your threats, Captain,” Thalt snapped. “If you want your three guards back alive I would suggest you save your insults and threats for later.” Thalt reached out and took Haradan by the arm. “Come, friend, it’s time to go.”
The grin on Haradan’s face quickly changed to a scowl. “Thalt, what about my son?”
Thalt looked past the captain. His eyes found Dhal. “He isn’t your son, Haradan,” he said quietly. “He is Ni-lach. Grag-dar said it was proven.”
“But you know what will happen to him if they take him to Annaroth,” Haradan cried. “You know what they’ll do to him! He’s done nothing to deserve death, nothing! Please, I beg you, let him come with us!”
Thalt shook his head. “We can’t. Already we’ve done enough to lose us our homes. Should we take the Ni we would be hunted down just as they were. We have our families to protect, Haradan. Don’t ask more of us than we can give.”
“If you won’t take him, at least free him from his ropes and giv
e him a chance to run. At least do that!”
Captain Mlar broke in. “If you do that, Thalt, it will be as you said: Each and every one of you will be hunted down and killed! You have the man you came for. Take him and leave!”
“No!” Haradan cried, but hands caught at him from both sides.
Dhal watched as Thalt and another man wrestled Haradan backward into the darkness. He wanted to call out, to tell Haradan that it was all right, that he wanted him to go with Thalt and the others, but the words wouldn’t come. He was afraid to be left alone with the Sarissa.
As Thalt disappeared into the night, Captain Mlar drew his sword and swung about to face his men. “Arm yourselves and keep watch on him,” he said, nodding in Dhal’s direction.
“Amsa, you, Bran, and Gydon with me. Each of you bring a torch!”
As the captain and his men left camp to search for the missing watch, a single voice floated back to camp: “Look for me, Dhal. Look for me!” Dhal felt a small glimmer of hope.
The Sarissa started out early the next morning. From the way the captain kept turning to check their back trail, Dhal guessed that he was worried about the Drimdorians changing their minds. Should Haradan somehow persuade Thalt and his friends to return and demand Dhal’s release, the captain would have no choice but to fight, and judging from the sounds coming out of the darkness the night before, it was apparent that the Drimdorians had outnumbered the guard.
They reached the Sadil docks by late afternoon. Safe now from the Drimdorians, they slackened their pace. For thirteen hours they had maintained a steady march. By their high color and heavy breathing, Dhal could tell that the captain and his men were not used to hurrying. But Dhal, used to such exercise, was still breathing easily and the discomfort of the guardsmen delighted him.
The trail they followed wound through dense underbrush and scrub trees that showed signs of being hacked off in periodic clearings. It was not easy to keep trails open on Ver-draak, where everything green grew visibly by the day. Dhal heard the sea before he saw it, and felt excitement stir within. When they broke out onto the grassy beach, he was so awed by the openness before him that he just stopped and stared. Several of the Sarissa bumped into him and cursed, not understanding why he had stopped.
“Move!” one of them growled, pushing him forward.
Walking in a near trance, he allowed himself to be shoved along, fascinated by the sea. Though he had wakened with a heavy heart that morning and walked many hours with despair, it was impossible to hold those feelings a moment longer. It didn’t matter that he was alone among enemies or that he was probably walking to his death. All thoughts of personal danger ceased as he beheld the great body of water called the Enzaar Sea, beauty of the Dradarian continent. Its blue-green color captured the eyes, its movement beckoned. The breath-like rise and fall of the waves sent chills down Dhal’s back. It was beautiful and alive and unlike anything he had ever seen before.
As they approached the first run of docks, only fifteen or twenty paces from the water’s edge, Dhal moved away from his captors, no longer aware of anything but the need to reach the sea.
“Watch him! Don’t let him into the water!” someone shouted.
Suddenly hands grabbed him, pulling him back. Dhal fought back, kicking and biting. But the battle was short and ended with him lying on the beach, his face in the sand. He was dragged, dazed, away from the water and up a slight rise to the docks. There he was left with four guards while the captain ordered two of his men to go down to one of the small inns along the dock to buy wine for their midday meal.
While the rest of his men dove into their packs for food, Captain Mlar stood over Dhal. “I know what the legends say about your people, Green One. Did you think to escape into the sea?”
Dhal looked up but didn’t answer. Never having gone farther out of the Deep than Drimdor, all he knew of the sea was what Haradan had told him. Words such as deep, tides, waves, and dangerous; words that seemed so inadequate now that he had seen for himself. So often he had begged Haradan to let him go with him to Annaroth, but always there had been some excuse. He began to wonder if it had had something to do with Annaroth’s proximity to the sea. Dhal searched his mind for facts about the Green Ones, but all he had ever heard was that the Ni-lach often chose homes near water and that they were excellent fishermen.
The captain hadn’t finished. “They say your kind turn into fish men when you enter the water. Is it true?”
Fish men? Was the captain serious? Dhal had always loved the water and could not remember a time when he did not swim, but to change into a fish man? That was one he had never heard!
“I was young when the Ni-lach were hunted out of Sarissa territory,” the captain continued. “So I never saw very many myself. Most of us thought such as you gone from our land forever. Are there more of you in the Deep, Green One?”
Dhalvad did not respond.
Captain Mlar frowned at Dhal’s silence, then shrugged. “Keep your secrets, Green One. There are others who can make you talk, but I don’t think you’ll like their methods.”
While the captain and his men shared their midday meal, Dhal turned toward the sea once more. Sitting quietly, he watched the shifting of the waves as they glided closer and closer to the beach.
As one of the small sailing boats left the dock and headed out to open waters, Dhal looked to the horizon, wondering where the boat was going. Though he strained his eyes, he couldn’t see any land beyond. Once, long ago, Haradan had drawn a map of the Enzaar Sea for Dhal to study, so he knew that on the other side of the water there was a country known as Amla-Bagor, a sparsely settled land where draak were said to roam in great numbers.
Haradan had often spoken to Dhal about the countries and people of the Enzaar Sea. From the way in which he spoke, Dhal concluded that his foster father was more traveled than he claimed.
Dhal was aware of the voices around him, but they had ceased to have meaning. His inability to see beyond the horizon had left him feeling very much alone. He sat quietly and tried to think things out.
First of all, the world was much larger than he had ever dreamed. Second, he had much to learn, about himself and about his people—if he would be allowed time enough to learn. Despite Haradan’s promise to come after him, Dhal held out little hope that his foster father would be able to help. He feared that once inside the city, he would be lost to Haradan forever.
Annaroth was a fortress carved out of solid stone, with narrow stairwells and climbing streets. The main city, with its shops and trade centers, lay in the cliff side overlooking the main docks; inside, deep in the heart of the rock, lay the warrens, the homes of the Sarissa. Haradan had explained that the Sarissa homes—made snug and comfortable with rugs, wall drapes, and pillowed furniture—were kept warm by fire-heated air pushed through vertical and horizontal vents by a system of fans operated by slave labor.
Dhal wondered what it must be like to live day after day doing nothing but tending fires, to be surrounded by a mountain of rock and never see the light of day. Did such a fate await him? Better to die, he thought, than to live enclosed in rock.
“Up!” One of the guards brought Dhal to his feet with a jerk on his arm.
As he walked along the docks absorbing all the sights and smells around him, Dhal was barely aware of the looks he was getting from the dock workers they passed.
When they approached the first flight of stairs leading up into the main city, the captain’s men fell into pairs, enabling them to pass between the narrow, waist-high walls that formed either side of the stairway. Twisting, turning, but ever rising, the steps wound deeper and deeper into the rock until the walls were well over Dhal’s head. Whenever they came to a landing or another flight of steps leading in another direction, there were painted letters on the wall. Unable to read or write, except for those symbols Haradan and he used to mark their herbs and spices, Dhal had no way of knowing where those other stairways led.
From almost any observation
point Annaroth looked more like a great jumble of rock than a city. Except for the docks, any passing ship would see the Sarissa capital as nothing but high jagged cliffs with natural rock caves.
At last the stairways ended. Captain Mlar took the lead. Passing through a series of tunnels that led ever inward, with only hints of light coming from man-made fissures overhead, Dhal was taken deep into the City of Rock. Forced to walk single file now, to allow for the passage of someone coming from the other direction, they moved like a gigantic snake along a mud trail.
The echo of shuffling boots coupled with the semidark of tunnel streets and the knowledge thai he might never again walk forest paths made Dhal shiver uncontrollably. The guard directly behind him, guiding him by a hand on his shoulder, must have felt that involuntary shudder, for his hand moved to Dhal’s neck and clamped tight, as if he feared Dhal might try to bolt.
Minutes passed and it seemed as if the tunnelways would have no end, then suddenly there was a splotch of light ahead. Moments later they entered an open area that overlooked the main harbor. It was a gigantic horizontal arc cut out of solid rock.
Dhal had seen market days in Drimdor, and it took but one glance to realize that this long shelf of rock was a marketplace. Underneath the overhang there were selling stalls. For those who had not come early enough to claim one of the enclosed stalls, there was an open area in the center of the arc where a man could lay out his goods on rugs or woven grass mats.
Haradan had described it many times, so Dhal was not completely unfamiliar with the scene. But one thing Haradan had not prepared him for was the sight of slaves being paraded before customers, the marks of whip and chain all too evident on their naked bodies.
Dhal looked away. There were no slaves in the Deep, not any in Drimdor. He felt sick with the thought of any one man or woman owning another.
Opening off the trading arc were many narrow tunnels, all of them lighted with strange glowing ovals of luminescence that sat in niches along the walls every fifty paces or so. The light within the glass globes came from a form of sea rock that had to be renewed once every forty days. Haradan had spoken about such lights but had never had money enough to purchase one.
Where The Ni-Lach Page 5