“No, not anymore. Port Sulta has been closed to all Sarissa vessels for nine months now. Though we aren’t exactly at war with the Letsians, the relationship between our two nations is anything but friendly. The Letsians believe that we intend to subjugate all the nations on the Enzaar Sea, if not by actual combat, then by trade embargoes and ship piracy. It’s no secret that during the last few years the Letsian fleet has diminished as our own fleet has grown.”
“Pirating can be very profitable. How does your father feel about it?” Haradan asked, watching for Efan’s reaction.
“He doesn’t approve,” Efan replied calmly. “It’s his belief that trade is only profitable when it is free of restrictions. But then, my father is only one voice against many and he hasn’t the power to change things.”
Efan paused, looking hard at Haradan. “Do you hope to take ship to some Letsian port?”
“It’s a thought,” Haradan responded. “Tell me, what do you know of the old port on the Gadrocci Inlet? Might it provide refuge for Dhalvad and myself?”
“Possibly, if you can reach it. It’s on the other side of the Mountains of the Lost and lies just within the fringe of Letsian territory. Not many ships sail there anymore. If you could find passage, it might be enough out of the way so you wouldn’t be followed or molested there.”
Dhal left Efan and Haradan discussing alternative destinations, and returned to the kitchen for another cup of tea. Gi-arobi followed. When they were alone, the olvaar asked to see the ring.
“Already?” Dhal asked.
“Dhal say any time. Any time is now, yes?”
Smiling at the olvaar’s logic, Dhal sat down and let Gi look into the stone. For long moments Gi was silent, then he thrummed deep in his throat. “See fire draak, Dhal.”
Freeing his hand from Gi’s grasp, Dhal lifted the ring to his eyes, adjusting it until he found the invisible golden crack that had once before taken him into another world. He felt a shiver of excitement. Who was the Ni he had seen in the ring? Where was his world? Was it real? Because the ring was Ni-lach, he thought, anything was possible.
Eyes locked onto the moving shadows, Dhal waited, willing the gold to disappear. The shift from warm colors to cool was so subtle at first that he almost missed the change. Then suddenly all was blue and green. As he watched, the colors flowed together like shadowy mist over a lake then, as quickly, they parted and he found himself looking at a quiet dell where the shadows of evening were tinged with blue.
He felt a breath of cool night air touch his face and was startled. Where was he? Where were Gi and Saan Drambe’s kitchen? Around him he saw nothing but dark bushes and trees. A sudden fear trickled down his spine. Where was he—dreaming? Yes, surely that was the answer. He was sitting by the kitchen hearth, dreaming. All he had to do was wake up.
A flicker of light and the sound of voices drew his eyes to the right. He couldn’t feel his legs move, yet he seemed to be gliding toward the light. The sky above was dark green: Night was closing fast.
The light of the small campfire revealed two men. Both wore cowled tunics and hide breeches that covered all but faces and hands. The younger man turned his head to the side. He looked familiar. The old man bent to stir the fire. Wisps of white hair showed out from under his hood.
Dhalvad became aware of the sound of water bubbling over and around rock. Water, open ground—obviously a well-traveled trail, he thought, and a good place to stop the night.
The old man turned to reach for a nearby sack—and saw Dhal. For long seconds he just stared, then he said something to the younger man beside him.
Slowly the young man stood up, facing Dhal. He spoke, but the words were strange to Dhal’s ears. When Dhal failed to respond, the older man spoke, this time in trader. “Welcome to our fire, stranger.” The accent was strange but Dhal understood.
Stunned by the knowledge that both men actually did see him, he felt his heartbeat quicken. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he nodded.
The young one beckoned. “Do you come in peace? Step out of the shadows and join us.”
Dhal approached, feeling again that gliding sensation, as if he walked without touching the ground. He stopped ten or twelve paces from the younger man. Recognition came. It was the same man—no, Ni! It was the same Ni he had seen the first time he had looked into the ring.
“Your name should be silence, stranger,” the old Ni said. “We didn’t hear you approach.”
“Are you alone?” the young one asked, looking beyond Dhal to the dark under the trees.
Dhal said yes, but no sound came forth. Startled, he tried again. Still no sound. How was it that he could hear and see and be seen, yet not be heard?
The old one rose. “Is there something wrong? Are you ill?”
Suddenly the young Ni’s eyes went round in fright. “It’s him, Lafa! The one I told you about! Only his eyes are different this time. He’s one of us!”
“You’re sure he’s the same one?” the old one asked.
“Yes, I swear! And he came out of nowhere just like he did before. Look how he’s dressed. That is no tunic for travel! What does he want? Why does he follow me?” The young Ni’s hand slid to his knife sheath.
“Be easy, Fantar,” the old one said. Gently he placed his hand on Fantar’s arm. “There is no need for weapons. He doesn’t look to be armed.”
The old Ni turned back to Dhal and introduced himself. “My name is Lafa. This is my friend, Fantar. We’re on our way to the Gathering of Val-hrodhur to gift the Tamorlee. Fantar says that he’s seen you before. Do you also travel to the mountains?”
Dhal had never heard of Val-hrodhur, but the word Tamorlee sent a chill down his back. Regent Lasca had spoken of the Tamorlee and had offered Dhal his freedom for knowledge of its location. Was it possible that the Tamorlee was not a reality of his own world, but rather a part of the mysterious Ni-lach ring world? Or was all of this just his own imagination? The last seemed most probable—all Dhal had to do was find some way to wake himself up.
“Your silence does little to reasssure us, stranger,” the old one continued, keeping his voice soft. “Would you not give us your name?”
Once more Dhal tried to speak. His lips moved but there was no sound.
Lafa started to say something, only to be interrupted by Fantar. “No more,” he said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t understand you. Let’s go. I want no more of his silence!” The young Ni pulled on Lafa’s arm. “Come!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Lafa nodded and together the two Ni retrieved their packs from beside the fire and disappeared into the darkness. Dhal wanted to call them back, to ask them what they knew of the Tamorlee, but, still voiceless, he couldn’t.
He was standing alone in the darkness wondering what he should do next, when he heard his name being called. “Dhalvad!” Haradan’s voice. Something struck his face, then he saw a swirl of colors and felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him.
“Wake up, Dhal! Wake up!”
He opened his eyes to find Haradan squatting in front of him, his face only a hand span away. Their eyes locked. “Dhal, are you all right?”
He managed a nod. “Yes, I think so.”
“What happened? You’ve been out here for over an hour. When you didn’t come back I grew worried. Then when I found you on the floor and I couldn’t wake you up, I thought—”
“I’m sorry, Haradan,” Dhal said. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. It was the ring. It has some kind of a mesmerizing effect. I saw something in the stone, a campsite and two Ni. It was like a dream.”
“Are you talking about the ring I gave you, the one that belonged to your father?”
“Yes. Gi returned it to me.” Dhal turned to find the olvaar silently watching him. “Gi, did you see the Ni by the campfire? Did you hear them speak?”
“No see, Dhal,” Gi whistled. “Gi watch Dhal close eyes. Sleep. Then Dhal talk but not to Gi. Gi wait for Dhal to return.”
“What’s he saying
?” Haradan demanded.
“Gi looked into the ring too, but he didn’t see what I saw.”
“Perhaps you were only dreaming?” Haradan offered.
“That’s what I kept thinking, but everything seemed so real, the air, the sound of the water… And, Haradan, they spoke of the Tamorlee, the place Regent Lasca asked about. They said that that was where they were going, to gift the Tamorlee, whatever that means.”
“What else did they say?” Everyone turned at the sound of Saan Drambe’s voice. Standing beside his son in the open archway, he studied Dhal with intense interest.
Haradan stood and gave Dhal a hand up. He nodded a greeting at Saan Drambe, then turned back to Dhal. “Did they say anything else?”
“No. The one called Fantar was afraid, I think. I tried to talk to them but couldn’t make myself heard.”
Haradan shook his head. “It sounds like some kind of a trance to me—or a dream.”
“No,” Saan Drambe interrupted, “not necessarily. It’s been reported that the Ni-lach were capable of controlling a variety of mysterious powers. If they did make the ring you wear, it’s very possible that it is useful as well as decorative. They are not to be underestimated. May I see the ring?”
Dhal looked at Saan Drambe’s outstretched hand and was instantly wary and loath to part with the fire ring.
“You seem to know a great deal about the Ni-lach, Saan Drambe,” Haradan observed. “How is that?”
Alert to the sudden tone of distrust, Saan Drambe dropped his hand. “I’m a student of the Ni-lach, Haradan. I, unlike many of my friends, have never looked upon the Ni as a curse, but rather as a mystery to be solved. What were their origins? Where did their powers come from? Were they learned or natural? What form of government did they have? Why did they never create any cities? In the years following the annihilation of the Green Ones, I became obsessed with learning all about them. After studying all the written reports available, I quickly came to the realization that although the Ni-lach had always lived among us, we knew almost nothing about them. What we did know was mostly conjecture; still, where there is talk there is usually substance. It’s taken me ten long years to begin to pull some of the information together and though I’m still woefully ignorant about many facets of Ni-lach life, I have closely studied their artistry and believe that many of the Ni artifacts the regent has collected are functional rather than decorative.”
“Functional how?” Dhal asked.
“Some as a power source.”
“How do they work?” Haradan asked.
Saan Drambe shook his head. “The source was known only to the Ni-lach and it seems that only they are capable of triggering its power. It’s my opinion that such rings as Dhalvad wears were a type of communications device. How they work no one seems to know.” Saan Drambe turned to Dhalvad. “Unless you can tell us.”
Haradan glanced at Dhal. “You think he activated the ring somehow? That he was in contact with some of his own people somewhere else?”
“It’s possible. Dhal, the men you saw, you’re sure they were Ni-lach?”
“Yes. The old one’s eyes were a light blue or gray and the younger one had eyes that seemed to change color when he moved his head. I remember him from before. He had—”
“You’ve seen the same person twice?” Saan Drambe interrupted.
Dhalvad nodded.
“Then you’ve used the ring before?”
“Yes. Once.”
“Tell me, did the young Ni have a ring like yours?”
“I don’t know. If he did I didn’t see it.”
“May I see your ring now?”
Dhalvad hesitated only a moment before he slipped the ring from his finger and handed it over to Saan Drambe. The inspection took only a minute or so, then he returned it to Dhal.
“I believe the ring you hold to be one of the functional type,” Saan Drambe said. “I would caution you to take great care in using it. It might be wise to have someone, one of us, near if you decide to do some more experimenting with it.”
Haradan peered down at the ring. “I’m not sure I understand all you’ve said, Saan Drambe, but I agree with you concerning caution. Dhal, perhaps it would be best if I keep the ring for now, until we know more about it.”
Dhal closed his fist on the ring and dropped his hand to his side. “No, I’ll hold it. It’s mine.” Attempting to soften his refusal, he added, “I promise I won’t do any more experimenting unless someone is near.”
Chapter 10
THREE DAYS PASSED. HARADAN GREW RESTLESS. HE FELT IT WAS time to try to leave Annaroth. Dhalvad agreed, but Saan Drambe counseled them to wait until he could arrange for transportation north. Haradan and Dhal had decided upon Port Sulta as their destination after leaving the city; Saan Drambe was sure he could get them as far as Port Bhalvar without too much trouble, but from that point on they would be on their own.
Dhal watched Efan cross the room on his crutches. They had just finished eating their noon meal and were awaiting Saan Drambe’s return.
The day before Efan had read to Dhal his father’s report on the Ni-lach, and together with Haradan they had searched for details concerning Dhal’s trancelike journeys into the ring world. Between the three of them, they left no questions unasked. But no real conclusions had been reached—the Ni-lach ring world was as much a mystery as ever.
As the boy left the room, Haradan spoke softly to Dhal. “Efan asks a lot of questions.”
“No more than his father.”
“They both seem overly interested in your ring. It bothers me.”
“Why?”
Haradan shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t put it into words. It’s just a feeling.”
“Are you saying that you don’t trust them?”
Haradan looked at Dhal for a moment before answering. “Yes, but I can’t tell you why. It may just be their Sarissa blood or Saan Drambe’s delaying tactics, or it may be my own desire to get out of here as quickly as possible. Whatever the reason, I won’t feel entirely safe until we leave Annaroth far behind us.”
“Perhaps Saan Drambe delays because I haven’t yet healed Efan.”
“You offered.”
“Once, yes, but we don’t know if Efan said anything to his father about it. He said he feared for his father’s safety should he suddenly become miraculously healed. It makes sense.”
“Yes, I heard, but—”
“But what?”
Haradan shook his head. “I don’t know, Dhal. There’s just something about Efan and his father that bothers me, something that I can’t put a name to. Perhaps I’m just being overcautious, but after all that’s happened to us these past few weeks, I think it would pay us to trust no one but ourselves. If Saan Drambe wants us to try and heal Efan, we’ll tell him that you’ll make the attempt but only after we’re safely out of Annaroth.”
“Sounds wise. Haradan, has Saan Drambe said anything to you about the Mountains of the Lost?”
“No. Has he you?”
“Yes. Yesterday he asked me if I thought the mountains I saw in the ring world might not be the Mountains of the Lost north of Port Bhalvar. According to him, they are the only mountains in this area of the world that might possibly contain a hidden Ni-lach world such as hinted at by the Ni I saw in the ring.”
“It’s possible I suppose, but we haven’t time now to go exploring. If we can make it to Port Sulta on the—”
The sound of booted footsteps coming quickly down the short corridor from the main tunnelway ended their conversation. When Saan Drambe strode into the room, one look at his face told them there was trouble.
Suddenly Efan appeared in the kitchen doorway. Dhal wondered if he had been listening to their conversation.
“What’s wrong, Father?” Efan asked.
“They’ve taken Vahar! I couldn’t stop them.” Vahar, an old man with white hair and kind eyes, was Saan Drambe’s only servant.
“Stop who?” Haradan asked. “Who’s taken
Vahar?”
“The Guard!” Saan Drambe snapped. “It was a mistake to use Janor’s name that night we left the lower levels. Somehow word reached the regent that his favorite nephew was ill and when he sent someone to investigate, he learned that Janor wasn’t sick, nor had he been in the main temple area in over a week. It didn’t take them long to piece everything together. The last I heard they were trying to find the guard who gave us passage from the lower levels that night.”
“And you think they’ve found him?” Dhal asked.
“Yes, why else would they have taken Vahar? They have my name but they have no proof. At this moment it’s my word against the guard’s. But once they have the truth from Vahar, they won’t hold back. You must leave here now.”
Turning to Efan, Saan Drambe began giving orders. “You know the secret way to the next level. You’ll have to lead Haradan and Dhalvad to safety. I’ll give you a fifteen-minute start, then leave by the main tunnelway and act as a decoy.”
“Sir?” Efan said, his voice sharp and quick with fear.
“Everything is going to be all right, Efan,” Saan Drambe reassured his son calmly. “There are guards loitering out in the tunnelway and I’m not sure of their orders. When I leave they may stay and continue to guard the door, or they may follow me. If they follow, I’ll try to lead them away from you.”
“And if they don’t?” Haradan asked.
“It won’t make any difference. By the time they decide to break in here you’ll all be gone.”
“Where am I to take them?” Efan asked.
“To the docks and our boat. You remember we talked it all over. When you reach the boat take it out immediately. Don’t wait for me.”
“But—”
Saan Drambe’s hands closed on the boy’s shoulders. “Efan, listen to me. The plans we made—you must follow them. It’s what I want.”
Efan’s head dropped. “Yes, sir.”
“Take the boat upcoast to the small inlet where we went fishing last year. You know the place. Wait for me there. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
Efan looked ready to protest again, but his father gave him no time. “You can do it, Efan. I know you can. Haradan and Dhalvad will help you with the boat. Go now. Show them the way. I’ll be right along with the priest robes we used before. They should get you out of the warrens and down to the docks. From there on you’ll have to improvise.”
Where The Ni-Lach Page 9